


Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade"

by frogfarm



Series: Faith the Vampire Slayer [12]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992)
Genre: Drug Use, Multi, Reality TV, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-04
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glory-seeking bounty hunter crosses paths with Faith, Willow and a new Slayer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. frogfarm: Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade" (Act 1)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs), [teaser](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/teaser)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Faith the Vampire Slayer: 1x03 (teaser)** _

Again with the wow. Go me for producing, and [](http://strapping-lass.livejournal.com/profile)[**strapping_lass**](http://strapping-lass.livejournal.com/) for great justice assist[anc]ing.

Here's to picking up the pace, while maintaining (cough, blush) quality.

 

[Previously, on Faith the Vampire Slayer:](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/47732.html)

 

 

   _Hey you, keep your head down  
   Don't you look around, please don't make a sound  
   If they should find you now  
   The Man will shoot you down._

   - Steppenwolf

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   "I think we missed our turn." Willow cranes her neck as she slows down, squinting through the lush forest growth.

   "Told you I can't read these for shit." Faith rotates the map again before giving up and dropping it in her lap. "Any idea where?"

   "Back at that farm. The one with the vegetable stand?"

   "Told ya that too," Faith mutters, not quite under her breath.

   "Sorry, honey." The Slayer sounds more impatient than bitter, and Willow doesn't take it too personal. Much. "But statistically speaking -- you're way more likely to get pulled over in smaller towns."

   "And this burg's about as tiny as they come." Faith glares down at the map, ready to shred it for insolent refusal to cough up its secrets.

   "That's why you want the other map," Willow says, casual as can be. "It's not on the state one. Remember?"

   "Obviously not." Faith doesn't exactly look like she's pouting, or it's not a word anyone who valued their skin would use to describe her expression. Willow, however, has grown more discerning when it comes to things that are genuinely bugging her traveling-slash-other companion.

   "You'll get your chance," Willow smiles. "If we're ever in Florida? Kennedy says we should rent a convertible. There's this stretch of desert they call Alligator Alley --"

   "Whatever." Faith leans on one elbow, staring out her window at the vast countryside. "You wanna try callin' again?"

   "I don't think so." Willow lets the blatant change of subject slide, trying to quell the nagging worry starting to reassert itself. "I'm not real good on the phone with strangers. Especially when I'm not being a hundred percent honest."

   "Now who's the worrywart?" Faith sounds less snappy as she watches the abundant scenery go by. Hardly an interest Willow would have predicted. "Not sayin' it'll be a piece of cake --"

   "Famous last words."

   "Least we got a decent story." Faith shakes her head. "Man, am I glad they didn't put Andrew in undercover."

   Willow silently concurs. She still hasn't gotten the full report -- or read Andrew's own on his mishandling of the Dana fiasco -- but it's trivial to read between the lines. In her opinion, their resident ex-not-so-supervillain ought to be thankful the Council hadn't shipped him to Siberia. Or its Watcher equivalent.

   Luckily, Dawn has been providing her with supplementary reports on Dana's condition, and Willow feels reasonably comfortable with the current delegations. It's been a week since they left Maryland and entered West Virginia, following Giles' last email. His writing style in that medium has always been communiquey at best, and her curiosity at the lack of phone contact was soon eclipsed by the unprecedented sense of freedom.

   Their current assignment is to approach, inform, and hopefully recruit the latest reported Potential turned Slayer, in a town small enough that its population's annual fluctuation continually threatens to revoke that title. The initial telephone call from Giles, vaguely claiming some form of scholarship, had met with no response, and he had subsequently assigned Dawn to the case, with the junior Watcher's reports indicating that she had left multiple messages to no avail. Every call since just rings.

   "There. That side road up ahead --"

   Faith follows the pointing finger. "Looks more like a driveway."

   "Well, does it look like I can turn around?"

   "I don't know. Can you?"

   "If I can't?" Willow resists the urge to grit her teeth. "You get to drive a little sooner."

   Faith remains silent throughout the thankfully brief maneuvering required. The last bit of asphalt was hours ago, and every road appears disconcertingly alike to Willow's citified eyes. Half lead to a creek or a dead end, the track of dirt they're currently navigating winding up and around the mountainous terrain like a snake eating its tail.

   "There!" Faith gestures at a worn wooden sign, obscured by weeds, invisible from the other direction. "Hollow Springs, next left. What'd I tell you?"

   Willow hazards a guess. "Piece of cake?"

   "And pie." Faith stretches in her seat, back to her unflappable self. "We find this chick, you give her the speech, I step in if I have to. Anything else -- we deal as it comes."

   "No word of a Hellmouth round these parts --"

   "See?" Faith smirks. "Already you're blending right in."

   "There's a thought. Hordes of rednecks bearing pitchforks?"

   "And right back out." Faith sounds bored as she leans back and closes her eyes. "You don't want to piss off the natives, you need to quit actin' so damn white."

   "I'll assume that's meant to be metaphorical?" Willow spots her missed turn, taking extra care to avoid potholes as she eases their abused rental vehicle over the well-packed gravel.

   "It's like prison -- hell, it's like life. You don't ever assume you're safe. But if you think everyone's out to get you?" Faith shrugs. "They will be."

   "Self-fulfilling prophecy," Willow muses.

   "Just don't act like Cordy and you'll be fine." Faith's left hand reaches over. Willow's ready to utter a half-hearted protest in the name of safety when she realizes the Slayer is rummaging through the pocket of her coat, on the seat between them.

   "Besides, they ain't all like that. Wasn't Tara --" The Slayer stumbles momentarily as she locates her crumpled pack of smokes. "Wasn't she from someplace like this?"

   Willow knows she looks troubled, but the memory provokes a smile.

   "I never did ask where she was from. I always envisioned her like Tori Amos on that album cover. Barefoot on the front porch of this little shack in the woods, with a --" The smile fades, and she swallows.

   "What?"

   Willow tries not to force out the words. "With a shotgun across her lap."

   Apparently, Faith has once more decided that silence is the best medicine. Willow concentrates on the road, trying not to skid as they crest the top of the hill; and then all is forgotten.

   "Wow." Willow comes completely to a stop as she stares at the immense vista laid out below, the shine of a lake in the distance.

   Even Faith looks impressed. "No offense to Katie -- now _that's_ a friggin' valley."

   Willow realizes she's perilously close to tears, wanting Tara with her to share this beauty. "Big time."

   Faith throws her a suspicious glance, but again says nothing as Willow finds the tissues, producing a vigorous honk before resuming their now downhill journey. Still, the ice feels somehow broken, a hypothesis confirmed when the Slayer seamlessly resumes their earlier discussion as though it had never been interrupted.

   "No matter where you go, people are people. Most of 'em suck, more or less. Degrees of suckitude." The lighter pops, adding its own punctuation as Faith pulls it out. "And a few _really_ suck. And a little less than that --"

   "The halfway decent?" Willow's amusement outweighs the vague feeling that she ought to be appalled as this level of cynicism. "Good and bad, two ends of the bell curve?"

   "When I was inside." Faith takes a drag, puts her arm out the window and kicks back. "Every time someone came in with any kind of an accent, they had to take an extra dose of crap. And the country girls were the worst. Everyone acted like they were retarded."

   "Ouch." Willow can hear an additional note of bitterness. Faith remains nonchalant.

   "So I figure round here, on the one end you got your Dukes of Hazzard. On the other, you got Deliverance. And the rest in between --"

   "The majority in their grey zone of suckitude?"

   "More or less." Faith takes another drag. "Shit, you hear some of those California girls talk -- South, West, didn't matter. Far as they're concerned it's all the same. Like nothing between there and New York really exists."

   "Wow." Willow ponders a moment, trying for light humor. "And you picked up all this in your extensive cross-continental travels?"

   No response. She risks a glance over, ready to apologize.

   "Don't sweat it." Faith does look a bit ticked off, but this and similar phrases are recognizable as Standard Operating Procedure.

   "I _am_ sweating," Willow replies, moving to defuse the tension. "Very unladylike. So we need to find a motel and a nice cold shower before my underwear gives me heat rash --"

   "Sexy."

   "-- and I cut you off." She adds a hopefully unnecessary smile.

   "Spite yourself." Faith shrugs, with a tiny smile of her own. "So how far to --"

   The thunderous noise fills her ears before she realizes what's happening; the roar coming up behind before something whips around them, tears by in a spray of gravel in less time than it takes Willow to rear back and suppress an ungodly shriek as she clutches the wheel, barely conscious of the rapidly vanishing cyclist.

   "Asshole!" Faith leans back inside. "You okay?"

   "Ah --" Willow's hands tremble, attempting to ease their death grip.

   "You can't let 'em get to you that easy." Faith's disapproval is clear. "Specially not when you're ridin' a couple tons of metal --"

   "At least I drive better than _Buffy_ \--"

 

   The road rises to meet his wheels; reflected in dark sunglasses as he shifts gears. Flying toward destiny, looming large in his sights.

   Toward new prey.

   The Hunter has come to town.

 

 

 

 

**


	2. frogfarm: Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade" (Act 1)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade" (Act 1)** _   
_If you go down to the woods today, you're in for a big surprise..._

 

([teaser](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/90573.html#cutid1))

 

**Faith the Vampire Slayer  
Year One**

by [](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/profile)[**frogfarm**](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/) ([damaged justice](mailto:realfrogfarm@gmail.com))  
en[abling|nobling] assistance and fine tuning by [](http://strapping-lass.livejournal.com/profile)[**strapping_lass**](http://strapping-lass.livejournal.com/)

1x03:

"Renegade"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   Regardless of what might be thought of his appearance, if not spoken out loud, the Hunter is clearly a man to be reckoned with. At well over six feet, somewhere south of three hundred pounds, he doesn't mind being mistaken for a biker by virtue of his numerous tattoos, the denim and leather attire or the hog itself. He may be getting older, but nobody could say he's getting soft, his daily regimen approaching what a solitary prisoner might consider obsessive. His beer gut is manageable, held at bay despite a meat and potatoes diet; the thinning hair still his pride and glory, furthering the rebellious image.

   Image and intimidation go hand in hand.

   He'd been where they were, these losers and psychopaths he tracked and captured, then turned over to the law for his thirty silver. He'd just learned how to work the system before it could work him. Built himself up behind bars, searing images of success into his brain; sucked up reams of discarded marketing textbooks, so he could present a coherent business plan to the bloodsuckers down at the bank. Every hipster chump in the dailies sneered down their pinkies at his low budget cable production, mockery turning to fear and hostility in the face of his skyrocketing ratings following the capture of a father and son bent on an interstate crime spree.

   "And I understand that completely. All I'm sayin' --"

   "_All you're sayin'?_" the phone howls. He pulls it away with a wince, glancing over one shoulder at the snoozing attendant inside the ramshackle building.

   "Darlin', you are far from easy on a man's ear." He nods and waves, lowering his voice. This far out in the sticks, anything new draws attention.

   "I got four open trails. Maybe another, pendin' further investigation. And the price of gas what it is, I don't see the profit in goin' after anyone else."

   "_Oh, yes._" Even over the phone, hundreds of miles away, his producer and not so blushing bride could kill a scorpion at fifteen paces with her own venom. "_Hadley Willits, wanted in two states for the grand and lofty fucking crime of embezzlement. And let's not forget a history of bad checks that make our current administration look the very model of frugal restraint._"

   "Don't you take that tone!" He forces his growl to a conversational level. "Man finds work where he can. Least I'm not shovelin' shit."

   "_That what you think?_" Her scorn drips like acid from the receiver, stinging deep in his ear. "_You didn't come this far sliding by on every two-bit meth head behind on his child support. You don't pull off a major score and fast, those damn suits are gonna pull their offer!_"

   "You think I'm fallin' over myself to sign their precious contract?" The hunter sounds pleasant enough even returning her sarcasm in full. "That what you think?"

   "_I think you're hell bent on committing career suicide._" The bile in her voice is gone, replaced with mere sullen. "_This is our chance to go national. Break out of the cable ghetto, and here you are chasing some low-rent no-account off to Bumfuck South Egypt --_"

   "I got this far without 'em," he continues, overriding her with practiced ease. "And I ain't stoppin' now. You stay hard to get, no matter how cool they play it -- in the end, they'll be back. Beggin' for _our_ attention."

   He pockets the phone as he approaches the window. The man behind the counter is well wrinkled, yet of indeterminate age, by all appearances permanently glued into his rocking chair.

   "Nice bike," the man drawls. "Old lady gettin' to ya?"

   "Tryin' her damndest." He hands over a crisp twenty, fresh from the last big city ATM.

   "Best thing for that?" The yokel grins as he counts out change. "Go fishin'. Catch a big one."

   The hunter smiles, turning and striding away with renewed purpose.

   "Sounds like a plan."

 

**

 

   "I'm not saying the Live Bait sign _itself_ is significant." Willow glances back at the tiny store, striving to remain unheard by its lone and grizzled employee. While she's certainly seen more attractive fellows, he doesn't seem to give off icky vibes; more like even the normal interest shown either of them by the average healthy male is beginning to feel anything but.

   "I just think, live bait and gas? Not the other way around? To provincial, untraveled me -- somewhat weird."

   "When in Rome." The Slayer's sunglasses, Willow has decided, make it too easy to be cool and ignore things like being checked out. She should get a pair herself.

   "You want anything?"

   "Something sweet." Faith grins, slow and easy. "With lotsa bubbles."

   Willow lets out a mock sigh, ignoring the lingering flutter in her knees and slightly higher.

   "I'm sure there's no champagne." An involuntary smile crosses her lips. "'No bread, no butter, no _pate de fois gras..._'"

   "Jerky."

   "Huh?" Willow is once more confused. An all too common occurrence.

   "Kinda far out for Twinkies, but see if they got any jerky." Faith frowns. "That other shi-- uh, was that supposed to --"

   "It's a quote." Willow tries not to sound too snotty. "From _Wind In the Willows_."

   "Ah." Faith takes a deep breath, lets it out through her nose, looking lost despite the shades. Willow's immediate urge is to lean in the car window and plant a kiss on the other woman's forehead. But it's not cowardice if she chooses to wait until they're behind closed doors.

   "Be right back."

   Faith doesn't reply. Willow concentrates on not letting it get to her. At least visibly.

   "Hi." She risks a carefully calculated smile. "That population sign, outside of town -- how accurate is that?"

   "Mm." The proprietor's face wrinkles further, squinting in deep thought as he shifts a fraction of an inch in his chair. "'Pends if Reeb finely had that fatal huntin' accident everyone's been predictin' for years."

   "Oh." Her first impulse is an inappropriate giggle. "Would that be a bad thing?"

   "Would be f'me, all the money he owes."

   Willow hastens to change the subject as she digs out a few pitiful, crumpled bills, wilted from the heat.

   "Is there any place we could rent a room for a few days? Maybe a week?"

   "Youns is in luck," the proprietor rumbles, nodding at a stack of yellowing business cards atop the counter. "My brother runs the only motel in town."

   "You mean the only decent motel?" Willow feels the need to clarify.

   "Seein' his busiest year was a whoopin' five customers, I'd guess it's cleaner'n his house." He hands over the change with a wink. "He ain't studied on it enough to figure he can charge more if'n he calls it bed 'n breakfast."

   Willow blushes, but the man just nods.

   "You stop in at Zeke's, now. Fella makes a redeye gravy'll put hair on your chest."

   Willow shakes her head as she climbs into the car. Faith gives her one of the Looks.

   "Problem?"

   "Not at all." Willow returns the friendly wave, pulling out of the cramped and scrubby parking lot. "But I can't tell if I'd be more or less disturbed if that was a come-on."

   "Man knows quality." Faith is still kicked back in her seat, impeccable in her Blues Brothers cool. "Notice how I stayed in the car. So's not to steal your thunder."

   Willow shakes her head again. "You're incorrigible."

   "If that means can't get enougha you?" Faith's smile is more genuine and wicked, all at once. "Guilty as charged."

 

**

 

   Having gassed up, the first order of business is reconnaisance. The filling station is on the west edge of town, at one end of the single main street, and the hunter traverses its length at a more sedate speed, ticking off landmarks for future reference: A mechanic's garage, stunning in its primitivism; a diner, barely discernible among the unmarked buildings by virtue of a hand-lettered sign in the window proclaiming GOOD EATS.

   He swings back round to the garage, rousting its owner from the dusty depths of a back office. Negotiating a week's storage for the bike cuts deeper into petty cash than he'd normally prefer, but while the cycle may indeed be badass, now is not the time to draw that kind of attention. The local's initial quote on a truck rental covering the same period is a more substantial figure, and the hunter resists the urge to lower his shades and play chicken, try to force a lower rate with his patented silent stare. In the end, he buys the aging vehicle flat-out on the spot when the dickering threatens to escalate to the haggling level of Chinatown, or a Middle Eastern bazaar.

   If things go smooth -- and sometimes they actually do -- he'll be out of town before the week is through. Fine by him; appearances aside, the hunter is a city boy through and through, having moved to Los Angeles from a small farming community before he was old enough to walk. The sooner he can conclude his business and be on his way, the better for everyone concerned.

   Well. Almost everyone.

 

**

 

   "At least it _has_ a main street."

   "That what you call this?" Faith lowers her shades to inspect the object of their discussion.

   "It's got a garage and a restaurant," Willow points out. "What would _you_ call it?"

   Faith doesn't answer, staring intently as they roll through the sparse and scattered neighborhood at a snail's pace. Positive identification of Slayer moods is an imprecise science, but Willow feels safe in labeling this one *disturbed*. Not frightened, or worried. Just vaguely weirded out.

   "Something wrong?"

   "It's creepy." Faith hunkers down in her seat, sunglasses returning to their original position. "Everyone's bein' friendly."

   "After you gave me the big _aw shucks, they're just folks_ speech?" Willow suppresses yet another Inappropriate Grin. "They're just waving hello."

   "Yeah. Kinda creepy."

   "Like, pod people creepy?"

   Faith is once more silent, staring out the window. The paltry number of dwellings continues to dwindle, along with their upkeep.

   "According to GPS, we're almost out of the county." Willow lowers her visor against the afternoon sun, returning her attention to the road. "Too much further and we'll end up in that lake. And I don't feel like putting my magic up against our basic insurance policy --"

   "So ask for directions," Faith says, with a roll of her eyes. "You're such a guy sometimes."

   Before Willow can compose a response the Slayer has slipped her seatbelt, shimmying halfway out the window.

   "Yo! Tom Sawyer!"

   Willow cringes, tapping the brakes out of sheer reflex. Faith remains oblivious, addressing a tanned and shirtless young man engaged in painting one side of a stately, slightly shabby two-story.

   "Can I help you ladies?" Her target pauses mid-stroke, peering down from atop an ancient, rickety scaffolding.

   "Check it out." The Slayer's conspiratorial whisper reeks of self-satisfaction. "We're _ladies_. And dig that accent!"

   Willow can feel her cheeks heat up as she swallows the first thing that comes to mind. Something about how the guy back at the gas station was a hundred years old and had ten times as much of an accent, and she didn't see Faith going all husky voice over _him_.

   "I'm lookin' for Lee Anne Solomon." Faith shifts her hips on the edge of the car window, drawing Willow's strangely reluctant gaze. "You know where I can find her?"

   "She ain't in trouble, is she?" The painter sounds somewhat unsure as he shoves back his cap and scratches his head.

   "No trouble," Faith assures him. "Kinda personal, though. If you could steer me to her, I'd sure appreciate it."

   Willow sneaks another look. Late teens, early twenties; a lean, sunburnt body that nicely fills out a pair of stained blue jeans. Sort of a blonder, skinnier version of Riley. Not bad. For those who like that sort of thing.

   "I dunno..." Judging from his obvious discomfort, their boy is trying to politely refrain from any hasty conclusions about what Faith's appreciation might entail.

   "Aw, come on, dude." Faith shifts again, no doubt spreading her arms wide. Willow can easily envision the chest-thrusting. "Do I _look_ like an ax murderer?"

   "Well, you don't look like you're from around here." The painter flashes a pearly-white grin. "No offense."

   "And you definitely look like you're from around here." Faith's chuckle is low and liquid, oozing sex. "No offense."

   "We should really get going," Willow breaks in, no longer able to restrain herself. "I mean -- we don't mean to keep you from your work..."

   "Oh, it's no trouble." The boy sets down his brush, clambering down from the scaffold.

   "Sorry 'bout m'manners. I'm Jeremy." He says his name with a slight slur, that makes it sound like _Jimmy_. "I'd be happy to give her the message --"

   "Sorry, man." Faith interrupts before Willow can think to. "But, like I said -- kinda personal."

   The boy's gaze slides in the direction of the house, stopping before he can actually look. Willow's about to call him on it when the screen door bangs open and a young woman steps onto the porch. Of average height and build, her otherwise attractive face is pinched in annoyance; blonde hair once dyed black, now grown out in streaks.

   "Jeremy, what's goin' on?" Willow can see the girl's eyes narrow as she stares at Faith. "Who are you?"

   "Depends who _you_ are." Faith sounds pleasant enough, but Willow doesn't hesitate to intervene.

   "We're trying to reach Lee Anne Solomon?" She shuts the engine off, stepping out of the car before Faith can interrupt. "If you could just tell me if this address is accurate -- I'm kind of having a hard time here..."

   "That's what happens when city girls come out in the woods." The girl's accent is softer than Jeremy's, precise and deliberate. "They get lost."

   The boy gives her a reproachful look, but says nothing. Faith, as usual, has no such compunctions.

   "Well, you can tell us to get lost. Or you can tell us how to find her, and we can be on our way."

   The girl raises her chin. "What business you got with her?"

   "Somethin' that ain't yours." Faith's voice is just starting to hint at becoming less pleasant.

   "Wrong." The girl folds her arms, belligerence rising to the fore. "I'm Lee Anne. There something I can do for you?"

   "I'm Willow Rosenberg. From the institute?" Willow's interruption is smooth enough, if lacking in polish. "This is my partner Faith. We left a couple of messages --"

   "It's okay, Jeremy." Lee Anne turns, giving him a determined look. "You go on home."

   "You know your momma wanted me to finish that south wall today." Jeremy glances back at Faith and Willow. "I mean -- I wouldn't wanna get in the way..."

   "I said it's okay," Lee Anne interjects, with a hint of force. "You let me deal with her, now." The unspoken _and them_ hangs in the air.

   Jeremy's handsome features curve into a decidedly odd expression, as if he's just figured something out.

   "Come on," Lee Anne sighs. "I'll give you a hand packin' up."

   Faith pulls herself the rest of the way out the window, boots hitting the dirt with a thud.

   "See? Halfway there."

   Willow ignores this, scanning up and down the street. She might be parked too far out...

   "Yo." Faith raps the roof of the car with her knuckles. "You in there?"

   "Nice to know you're still concerned." The words tumble out before Willow can recall them. She can feel her face redden as she turns away, but Faith is having none of it.

   "What crawled up your ass and died?" The Slayer's voice takes on a touch of righteous outrage. "What -- you thought I was _flirtin'_ with him?"

   "Maybe," Willow flings back, more than a little stung. "At least that was the view from twenty thousand feet. I could be wrong, I'm not an expert --"

   "Playin' the slut card already," Faith chuckles, not hiding the bitterness. "Nice."

   "I didn't mean it that way." Willow's already regretting having started it, but she's not backing down now. "All I meant was, if you were trying for honey instead of vinegar -- that was like a whole beehive."

   "So I get to be bad cop twenty four seven?" Faith doesn't appear in the least appeased, and her tone confirms it.

   "It just made me uncomfortable." Willow tries not to sound -- she doesn't want to think _bitchy_, or even _whiny_. "That's all."

   Faith is still irritated, not at all defensive. "Thought you wanted me to be friendly."

   "I didn't mean _frisky_ friendly --"

   "I'll be leavin' now," Jeremy hastily interjects from across the driveway, somehow managing to tip his baseball cap while loaded up with brushes and buckets.

   Willow returns the nod, hoping Faith won't take the opportunity to say something horrible. But the Slayer remains silent as he turns and jogs off down the street, as though he's trying not to break into a run.

   "You bill collectors?" Lee Anne's arms remain crossed like a shield, her shirt and cutoffs now smudged with paint.

   "No!" Willow shakes her head. "Absolutely no. Did you...I mean, they said they left at _least_ one message. It would have been an older man, with a British accent?"

   The girl's frown grows deeper, skepticism plain on her still-rounded face.

   "I admit I erased that. Didn't seem to make much sense."

 

**

 

   Faith's been too busy keeping silent to notice until now, but the odd, indecipherable look in Willow's face is taking on a shape she can recognize. She's just not accustomed to seeing it on that face. The witch appears downright _puzzled_ as she closely examines their target, who returns the stare in spades.

   "Yo." She nods toward the tire swing, hanging from a tree in the enormous side yard. "Holler if you need backup."

   "What are you talking about?" Willow's agitation puts the kibosh on that right quick. Whatever has her girlfriend spooked -- and their earlier, unfamiliar tussle aside -- she's not going anywhere.

   Maybe that's part of the problem.

   "Listen," Faith breaks in. "I understand you might not be keen on invitin' strangers in. Even in broad daylight."

   Lee Anne nods, giving no recognition of the slight emphasis Faith places on this addendum.

   "But we came a ways to find you," she continues. "And I'm not trying to lay any kind of a guilt trip on you. But I think you owe it to this woman --" She indicates Willow, with a jerk of her head. "To listen to what she's got to say."

   Lee Anne casts a nervous glance behind her at the house, looming over her suddenly tiny figure.

   "I guess we can talk out here."

   Faith's already heading for the swing, forcing herself not to look until she's safely ensconced. As expected, Willow and Lee Anne are standing right where she left them, a couple of awkward mirror statues.

   At least they're talking. Mumbling, anyway. All Faith needs to make out most of what's being said, while maintaining the illusion of privacy. Not like she doesn't know the basics of their vague cover story more or less by heart, all the semi- and not so subtle verbal Potential cues like _We want to encourage young women to follow their dreams_. Willow's an old pro at it, and the only reason Faith didn't take charge herself is the obvious intimidation factor. One on one, meek on mild.

   Then maybe the hard sell.

   Except Willow's not growing more confident; is looking more and more downright weirded out, as the conversation continues.

   "Is something wrong?" The mingled suspicion and concern in Lee Anne's voice is clear to Slayer hearing, even many yards away.

   "No, no. Everything's fine. Um...I'm really sorry, would you excuse me just a moment --" Willow pulls out her phone as she walks away, her voice drifting back. "Giles? Are you sure..."

   Lee Anne turns her gaze upon Faith, who returns the frank appraisal. The Slayer is wearing her more respectable pair of jeans, along with one of her few dressier non-T-shirt tops. Still, part of her will always think it's lipstick on a pig.

   Willow returns, wearing that distinctly bureaucratic look of apology that says absolutely nothing is wrong, and that nothing is resolved. "I'm really sorry --"

   Disappointment writs itself large on the girl's face. "No scholarship?"

   "No! No, it's...just a little mixup. Um -- we need to find the motel and check in...I'm sure we can get it straightened out. If you're gonna be around later?"

   "Goin' no place fast." The accent has grown thicker as Lee Anne's shoulders hunch up, turtling in.

   "We should include your mom in the discussion. If that's not a problem," Willow amends, upon seeing the unenthused reaction.

   "I guess." Lee Anne shrugs again, stonewalling anything further. "I got stuff to get done anyways."

   And with that, the conversation is over.

 

**

 

   The hunter's seen shabbier digs, though recent years have made him more familiar with the finer things in life. His current accomodations are run down, but surprisingly clean, even if there's a strange tang to the water he doesn't much care for.

   He's considering dinner when his one and only catches him before he can leave the phone behind, bending his ear to breaking about the legal department's latest conniption. The full crew is a few days out, and until their arrival, the whole shebang depends on his limited personal video rig. And god dammit Dwayne, that daughter of yours just got tagged by the press again, rollin' out of a bar drunk as a skunk, when the hell are you gonna take her in hand...

   He breathes a healthy sigh of relief when that unpleasant business is concluded, finding solace at the better looking of the two restaurants in the form of a prime rib, with all the trimmings. The walk back helps to dispel some of the torpor, and he pauses to admire the exquisite rear end on the redhead checking in at the desk.

   He shakes his head as he climbs the stairs to his room. Sweet thing probably ain't got but a few years on his daughter if that, and here he is eyeing her like some damn pervert. Suddenly, the meat in his gut doesn't sit quite right.

   Enough distractions.

   Time to go to work.

 

**

 

   The process of ensconcing themselves at the erstwhile bed and breakfast is thankfully less complicated than anything else that's happened so far today. They don't have a ton of luggage to install, but when Faith finally gives in and asks what the hell's wrong, Willow has to admit she doesn't have a clue. All she can say is something obviously isn't right, and didn't you sense _anything_ \--?

   "Not a frickin' thing." Faith rolls the unlit cigarette over her knuckles from her perch in the window seat.

   Willow can feel herself rising to the challenging gaze. She tells herself yet again that it isn't cowardice that drives her to avoid conflict. She just doesn't want to push it when she herself is so unsure, the tension betwen them unresolved.

   It's after dark when they return to Lee Anne's, finding the house equally unlit. Willow's tentative knocks produce no answer, and she's momentarily stymied on where to go next.

   "Upstair's window's open." Faith stands back, away from the porch, looking up. She gives Willow one of the many Looks.

   Willow nods.

   Without a word Faith runs at the porch, launching herself into the air and disappearing from view. Willow can barely make out her movements by the faint squeak of timber, the trickle of falling dust from above.

   A handful of agonizing minutes passes before the Slayer hits the ground once more, straightening and dusting herself off.

   "Looks like she flew the coop."

   "Are you _trying_ to sound like more of a hayseed?" Willow honestly means it as a joke, but she's not sure if it came out right. Or should have come out at all.

   Faith ignores it, or pretends to. "Five'll get you ten she's hangin' at the hottest kegger in town."

   "You don't say?" Willow knows she sounds skeptical.

   "Friday night and no mommy dearest?" Faith shrugs, as if it's self-evident. "Bet your ass she's out and about."

   Willow digs out her notebook, flipping it open to the latest set of marked pages. She prefers the laptop, but low tech does have its advantages.

   "Didn't you say there was one cemetery?" Faith is standing straighter, practically sniffing the air.

   "Yeah."

   "Lemme guess. Just over that hill?"

   "...crap." Willow stuffs the notebook back in her pocket, as Faith breaks into a run; her lungs protesting already at the thought of keeping up.

   She really needs to start working out.

   Her wheezing has reached epic levels by the time she reaches the edge of the graveyard, momentarily hanging onto a crumbling tombstone for support. From the noises she's making, anything alive or undead within miles has been scared into hiding.

   She freezes at the sound of a snapped twig. Readying a spell, on the tip of her tongue...

   The yelp dies on her lips as Faith flies past her in a blur, vaulting over the nearby crypt.

   A startled squawk emerges, followed by a triumphant Slayer holding Lee Anne aloft by one hand. Willow glimpses a bottle of wine dangling from the younger girl's own grasp.

   "You supposed to have that?" Faith sounds almost friendly. "'Cause I forgot the drinkin' age in this state."

   Lee Anne stops struggling long enough to level a glare at her captor.

   "Relax." Faith says it like an order. "I'm not gonna rat you out. But you're not stayin' out here."

   Lee Anne glares some more. Like that trick ever works. She's wearing jeans and a flannel shirt with long sleeves, her two-toned hair back in a ponytail.

   "Says who?"

   Faith just looks back at her. Finally the girl deflates, pouring out the bottle and handing it over.

   "Word of advice?" The Slayer deposits her on her feet, slipping the empty bottle into her jacket. "Pride's a lot easier to swallow."

   Lee Anne ignores this, staring at Willow with a mixture of anger and curiosity.

   "It's twenty-one," Willow points out, ever helpful. "And this isn't Wheeling."

   Faith gives her a blank look.

   "...and once more I'm the only one who gets it." Willow sighs. "God, I'm such a nerd."

   Lee Anne's eyes flash, but she doesn't say a word. In fact, their quarry remains silent all the way back to the house.

   "C'mon in," the girl mutters, fumbling with a key as they stand on the porch. Faith gives Willow an eyebrow behind her back.

   Her first impression is that the house is kind of a mess, but it's nothing she hasn't seen before. Even at its best, Xander's old room at his parents' could make this look like the Taj Mahal. With no smell of rotting food hidden amongst the chaos, this place at least has a head start.

   "Sorry 'bout the house." Lee Anne sounds more than appropriately embarrassed. "You wanna sit down, I can get you a drink...uh, without alcohol?"

   Willow finds a spot on the couch as the girl leaves the room. Faith turns to her with a determined look.

   "All right, Red. What's the dealio?"

   "I don't know." Willow tries to keep it to a whisper. "She's just --"

   "An emo brat?"

   "I was gonna say --"

   "Talkin' about me behind my back?" Lee Anne appears from the kitchen, bearing a pair of Cokes in honest to God glass.

   "No." Willow coughs. "I mean -- in the yes kind of way."

   "Well, 'fess up." Lee Anne hands her one of the bottles, giving Faith another suspicious look before releasing the other. "'Cause I want some straight answers, or you best be movin' along --"

   The front door slams open. Willow gapes at the woman framed in the doorway; blonde hair tumbling past both shoulders, greasy jeans and an old mechanic's shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal a canvas of colorful tattoos. Three full bags of groceries balance on her hip, held in place by one muscular arm.

   "Dang it, girl! Sittin' round yakkin' it up with your friends, 'stead of givin' me a hand --"

   "Looks like you got it under control," Lee Anne retorts, flushing with embarrassment or anger.

   Then stops, seeing Faith staring at the newcomer.

   And Willow, staring at Faith, as realization comes crashing down.

   Lee Anne looks back and forth between them, her confusion complete.

   "_What?_"

 

**


	3. frogfarm: Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade" (Act 2)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade" (Act 2)** _

>   
> _I try to write about 1,000 words a day in longhand and then edit it very carefully later before I type it out. I have been known to stop in the middle of a sentence sometimes when I've reached my limit. But self-discipline is enormously important -- you can't rely on inspiration or a novel would take ten years._  
>  \- J.G. Ballard, "How I Write"

 

**Faith the Vampire Slayer**

 

1x03: "Renegade"

Act 2

 

([teaser](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/90573.html#cutid1))  
([Act 1](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/91586.html))

 

 

 

 

   For once, the international date line works in Willow's favor. On the other side of the world, even this late at night is prime time. Giles, en route to another meeting, had just time to give her a basic rundown:

   "_The destruction of so much of the Council's records makes specific information nearly impossible to come by. In theory, every Potential was supposed to have been visited and trained by their Watcher well before menarche. Preferably from infancy._"

   "Give me the child, I'll give you the woman." Willow glances at the older blonde sitting on the couch, looking more than a little shell-shocked. She's not the only one. Academic papers are no doubt being composed this very second regarding the discovery of the world's oldest recorded Slayer.

   "And the ones who slipped through the cracks -- rough percentage? What kind of statistics are we looking at?"

   "_I'm afraid numbers will always lie._" Giles sounds more exhausted than usual. "_If any Potential reached the age of eighteen without being Called, her file was moved to inactive status. I wouldn't call it a rare occurrence, but it certainly wasn't commonplace._"

   "Do we have any idea how this happened?"

   "_Assuming you are not merely referring to this woman's activation as a Slayer --_" Willow swears she can hear him polishing his glasses. "_I can only speculate as to what sort of bureaucratic nightmare her paperwork may have been subject to. We're not exactly Inland Revenue, you know._"

   "And what about finding her as a little girl?" Willow tries not to take out her frustration on Giles. "We're not talking heart of the jungle, or some floaty ice floe. How could they have missed her?"

   Giles' sarcasm is bone-dry. "_To that, I can only speculate as well._"

 

**

 

   _"I done told you once." The cold steel barrels press against his nostrils, forcing him onto the tips of polished leather shoes. "Now you git your revenooin' hindquarters off'n my property and outta this town, or I'ma fill 'em so fulla lead they'll use you for a sinker."_

   "You don't understand --" He desperately tries to summon forth his training, but nothing leaps to mind. From behind his captor blinks a pair of tiny blue eyes, one chubby pink fist clutching the knee of oily, blackened trousers.

   "I unnerstand you're a lyin' sack of crap in a two dollar suit who's lookin' at my baby girl way too familiar. And if you don't move your ass right quick I'll be dee-lighted to move it for ya --"

 

**

 

   Willow shakes her head. "The world may never know."

   Having been handed off to Dawn, the juggling of long distance and local conversations could only continue for so long before Willow decides it's the height of rude behavior to spend so much time on the phone. She's given this same speech, or one like it, countless times, doubtless many more to come. And it must be said she isn't overly comfortable letting Faith take the reins when it comes to social interaction.

   This, of course, is when things decide to become less simple.

   "You can't be serious!"

   "Actually, she's real good at it." Faith ignores the automatic glare Willow sends her way. Ruby's pacing around the cluttered room, her daughter watching from the couch, sneaking occasional surreptitious glances at the others from beneath her bangs.

   "I realize how crazy it must sound." Willow strives to be gentle, calm. Like she's soothing a horse. "Having to accept the supernatural is real -- it can really throw you off kilter. I remember my first vampire..."

   She trails off. Ruby isn't listening, is looking increasingly agitated.

   "You're tellin' me -- I can kill a man with one punch? With my goddamn _pinky_?"

   "Um --" Willow glances at Faith, who gives her a half-nod half-shrug. "More or less."

   Ruby looks paler than ever. "Sweet Jesus."

   "Momma?" Lee Anne rises from the couch. "What's wrong?"

   "Goddamn jury _never_ woulda let me go!" Ruby stops in her tracks, panic rising to fever pitch. "You know how close I came to prison? Havin' to give you up? They only let me walk 'cause it was self-defense!"

   "And that bastard beat on you -- how many years was it, again?"

   "You watch your mouth," Ruby snaps. "I'm the only one gets to call him that."

   "Hey," Faith interjects. "When did all this go down?"

   "You mean --" Ruby frowns.

   "I mean, tell my girl here when it happened." Faith indicates Willow with a nod of the head. "And she can tell you whether you were all superpowered at the time."

   Ruby bites her lip, giving the witch a look that says she's not telling squat.

   "My journal's on my laptop back at the motel," Willow offers, hoping she's correctly following her girlfriend's lead. "I could double check the dates right now..."

   "Do that," Faith nods. "And you -- go with. I wanna talk to your mom alone."

   Thankfully, Lee Anne's resentment is no more than Willow anticipated.

   But she's already counting all the ways this can go wrong.

 

**

 

   Funny thing about awkward silences.

   They never do seem to lose their awkwardness.

   Ruby sinks back into the couch, pressing her palms against her eyeballs. Faith watches from the worn, funky smelling and amazingly comfy rocking chair. Probably the matriarch's own throne.

   "First things first." Faith forces herself to continue before losing momentum. "Even though there's no way you can prepare for something like this -- I'm sorry we came outta nowhere."

   Ruby doesn't respond as she hugs herself, rubbing her arms as if to ward off a chill. Faith takes a moment again to admire not just the artwork, but the canvas; brightly inked, intricately rendered Eastern-style dragons amongst forests and storm clouds, etched onto what even at the claimed age of thirty-seven is without question a killer bod.

   She closes her eyes, shaking her head with a smile. After the earlier territorial pissings, she'd been expecting all kinds of upsets if she so much as looked sideways at the newest hot young Slayer. Imagine the commotion if she gets caught perving on Mom.

   "Life's screwed up enough already." Faith scoots forward to the edge of the chair, folding her hands in some bloody Watcherly air of authority. "Nobody needs more shit complicating things up. So I'm sorry I came here and stirred up more shit."

   "Am I supposed to accept your apology?" Ruby's voice is weary, her words without malice or rancor as she stares at the torn and stained ceiling.

   Faith takes a deep breath. "I'm just gonna tell you one more thing, and then I'll shut up for a bit. 'Cause somebody shoulda told me."

   Ruby's eyes remain fixed on the peeling strips of paper, hanging down from above.

   "Whoever you killed -- it ain't my place to say if they deserved it. But sometimes, these things happen. And it sounds to me like you already paid the price." She suppresses a sarcastic, unamused smile. "I admit -- way they _used_ to handle it, you probably got a better deal in court --"

   "What about the scholarship?" Ruby's gaze is abruptly sharp and focused.

   "Huh?"

   "If I'm too old for this -- whatever -- can she have my scholarship? Lee Anne?"

   Faith can feel her shoulders sag.

   "That's...kinda just a cover story. You know, when we're first approachin' a new girl, before we know how much they know?" She feels crappy just saying it. "I mean -- anyone's got the option to live at headquarters in London, but that's basic room and board...Council doesn't really cover anyone's expenses." _Except Buffy's,_ she thinks. _And yours, and Willow's..._

   Ruby's looking around the room again, seemingly everywhere but Faith.

   "I know she don't wanna be here." The freshly minted Slayer surveys their surroundings with grim resignation. "Be honest, who'd wanna stay in this dinky old town...crappy old house. Which I'm _still_ makin' payments on, thank you very much."

   "I grew up in apartments, and they all looked a lot worse." Ruby's eyes narrow, and Faith holds up one hand. "No lie."

   The defensive demeanor remains intact. Faith finds herself casting about for some conversational nicety.

   "Anybody I knew owned a house, I'd think they won the lotto."

   "I grew up here." Ruby points at the kitchen door. "See the marks? That's me."

   Faith wisely doesn't say a thing. For all her compact buffness, the older woman is almost the exact height as Willow. That is to say, barely taller than Buffy.

   Ruby's nostalgia, meanwhile, has turned sour. "Moved back in and took over the mortgage after Dad passed."

   Faith crosses mental fingers. "What about your mom?"

   "Took off for California 'fore I could remember her, much." A humorless chuckle as Ruby looks down at her hands; knuckles adorned with scars and callous, nails chipped and stained. "Hell, I came this close to losin' the place after that damn trial. Only thing kept me goin' was the settlement. Just enough to get 'em off my back 'til I got to workin' again..."

   Faith is always at her least comfortable when people are confiding in her. Though it's easier when they're complete strangers.

   "God, I need a joint."

   She almost laughs, but stops at the look on the other woman's face. Ruby sits up straight, all hint of relaxation fled.

   "You CPS?" Ruby's belligerent tone does little to disguise the underlying fear. "'Cause I got nothin' to hide, but if you ain't got a warrant you can go pound sand. And this place may be a shithole but I got _nothin'_ to be ashamed of, I take good care of that girl --"

   Faith holds up both hands, stemming the vehement flow.

   "Hey, I ain't here to make a bust. And I got no love for the cops. You wanna blaze up in your own licensed home, feel free by me."

   Judging by Ruby's frown, suspicions are still riding high.

   "How do I know you ain't no narc?"

   "Dude, have you even been listening --" Faith breaks off with a heavy sigh, extending one hand.

   "I'll roll."

 

**

 

   Checking discreetly around town for his target has so far been an exercise in frustration -- he does not want to think _futility_. That leads to the other F word.

   Failure.

   Hadley Willits' only living relatives were originally from this part of the state. The name of Hollow Springs, however, appeared on only one of the many papers in the deposit box seized by the state police. Access to the evidence locker was easily had by dangling promises of fame and fortune before the right fresh young faces. His informant swore up and down that the lead detective assigned to the case had already considered the area's possibilities, and just as summarily rejected them.

   The hunter is camped out on the stoop at the courthouse well before sunrise, nursing a travel mug full of steaming coffee as he waits for the doors to open. Swimming through the sewer of records and red tape is another thankless chore, but it has to be done. At all times his eyes are open; ready to lay hand on any number of tools of the trade, from pistol to bear mace.

   He's no Boy Scout, but there are worse mottos. Makes sense to be prepared. Never know when danger will strike.

   Or opportunity will knock.

 

**

 

   Faith's having a harder time than usual convincing herself that everything's cool. Part of it is the nagging, ever-growing feeling that she pushed things too far earlier, for some unknown reason. Her own insecurities, maybe. Trying to reaffirm her belief in her own desirability. Or her complete lack of ability to leave others' buttons unpushed.

   She quashes the butterflies as she puts the finishing touch on the seal. This is no time to look nervous. So what if she hasn't toked up since Ronnie? Slayer metabolism -- pardon the pun -- should blunt the worst of it.

   Predictably, this is not a selling point.

   "You mean I gotta smoke twice as much to get half as high?" Ruby shakes her head, exhaling an enormous cloud. "Guess that explains a lot."

   "Feels like you're eatin' for two?" Faith nods. "Got a demon to feed. Half a one, anyway."

   Ruby's disbelief is plain. "You say that like it's a good thing."

   "I won't lie. It can get nasty." Faith accepts the joint, calculating how well Ruby's paranoia has been quelled. Maybe one more. "But, honest truth. For me? Being a Slayer -- it's the

   (_second_)

   best thing that ever happened to me."

   She watches, as Ruby digests this. Speaking of digesting...

   "And yeah, there's a million things to learn. But if you want the short version -- hungry and horny."

   Ruby's lips curve into a disbelieving grin. It's the first honest happiness Faith can recall seeing on that face; makes the years fall right away.

   "You're serious?"

   "As a heart attack." Faith goes for a smile of her own. Reassuring, full of confidence. "Just try not to do anything stupid -- you should be good to go."

   Ruby chokes back the expected, semi-tearful laugh that says it's far too late for that.

   Both women sit, lost in thought, when another thought occurs to Faith. Besides the thought that her Coke's getting warm.

   "Maybe -- if Lee Anne was interested? We could work something out. Arrange for her to live in London? At least spend some time..."

   She's not sure how much elation she was expecting. Ruby just looks torn and indecisive, and Faith lets it drop.

   "Well, thanks for the horse brutality, but I gotta get moving." She rises and stretches, enjoying the rubbery sensation in her limbs. "I'll be back tomorrow night -- take you out on patrol, give you some idea how it works. But leave that shit --" Faith nods at the stubbed-out roach in the ashtray. "-- at home. No flyin' high on the job."

   "On my own time." Ruby nods, unperturbed. "Got it."

   "Ain't no such animal." Faith shakes her head. "That's why it's such a hard life to choose. You can do things other people only dream about. You're built to take on their worst nightmares...and come out swingin'."

   It's as though she comes out of a trance, realizing how corny and dramatic she sounds. But Ruby looks thoughtful.

   "Sounds like bein' a mom."

   Faith resists a cough. "Wouldn't know."

   Ruby's smile is weary, but genuine. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

   "Let's not and say we did. But hey -- if you can make it work?" Faith gives her best shrug. "More power to ya."

 

**

 

   Ruby shuts the door, shaking her head. Too much strange for a lifetime, let alone one day.

   Grainy recollections of Saturday horror matinees probably don't count for previous experience, but it's all she's got. Faith had mentioned one other Slayer mother, and Ruby doesn't want to forget that. Next time she'll ask more questions. Find out the full scoop on all this weirdness. The younger Slayer doesn't strike her as someone who'd steer you wrong; pretty straightforward, unlike her redheaded companion. Hard not to appreciate that kind of honesty.

   She throws herself into tidying up after her unexpected guests, a trivial task that nonetheless threatens to become a full-fledged cleaning riot. If this is what being a superhero feels like, she'd be hard pressed to think of a downside. This is the source of her chronic insomnia? The nervous energy, her

   (_hungry and horny_)

   insatiable appetite?

   Ruby snorts as she wrings out the dishrag. No way to blame teenage follies on this particular scapegoat.

   The walk upstairs has been a trudge for so long, she hardly recognizes the spring in her step. Or her own face in the bathroom mirror; her eyes bright and shining, the faint lines of age for once failing to exert their usual downward pull on her mood.

   Despite the inner wince at her vanity -- how many years has it been? -- Ruby steps back and takes a good, long look, critically surveying her reflection in the cracked and dusty glass. Her arms and shoulders have filled out over the last ten years from an endless string of factory jobs, the extra meat on her thighs and belly equally hard and defined thanks to constant walking. Not like she could afford to get the last car fixed.

   A jolt shudders through her body, bringing a startled gasp. Somehow her left hand has found one nipple, tweaking through the tank top. Her right hand creeping into the elastic waistband...

   Ruby freezes, holding her breath, head darting this way and that. Looking all around, listening for the slightest sound.

   Outside, a cricket chirps.

   Without another moment's delay, Ruby hurries from the tiny room, scurrying down the hall.

   The bedroom door slams.

   Minutes pass.

   Then, there are other sounds.

 

**

 

   His search of City Hall having proved fruitless, it's time to fall back on traditional methods. One good thing about being this far off the beaten track is that the bars open early. Either that, or they never close.

   The solitary saloon has no less than three vantage points for a picture perfect stakeout, and the hunter positions himself at the second after making a circuit of the immediate vicinity, satisfying himself that any ambush will lack the element of surprise. At this hour the streets are empty, though he laughs to think on what might pass for rush hour.

   The silent, miniaturized video rig concealed in his belt has enough charge for one more day when he takes advantage of the downtime to check. He vacillates only a moment before switching it off. Any voiceover that might be required he can add in post-production -- but the original image absolutely must remain untampered. It's a sore spot and a source of pride; his net worth might be chicken feed to the big dogs, but his reputation is more than all he has.

   It's who he is.

   The parking lot fills with surprising speed. Mostly factory workers, bent-backed and zombie-eyed from a lifetime of night shifting; a handful of random unemployed, ancient relics side by side with young turks. And one or two women, as all areas like this seemed to produce in a bumper crop: Every one hard, the old brittle in their desperation, even the smoothest and freshest smiles devoid of anything resembling hope.

   He waits for a lull in traffic before disembarking from his perch and ambling around the perimeter in a lazy, meandering stroll. No helping his size and appearance, but a non-threatening demeanor is easy to fake.

   Just another good old boy.

 

**

 

   It's not as though she's lost all sense of direction, her brain baked beyond recognition. The town limits are clearly visible, lines of civilization bordered by thick forest, and she knows full well how to get back to the motel. Regardless, Faith ends up taking the long way, jacket slung over her arm, enjoying the light drizzle starting to fall from the hazy morning sky.

   Weird. This kind of weather, you'd think her mood would be the exact opposite. All kinds of flashbacks; BuffyAngelBuffyAngel dying in the rain, reborn and crawling from her grave. Running together in her mind as she wonders, for the umpteenth time, just how in the hell she got here.

   The rain is coming down heavier, bringing a pleasant tingle to her chest. Usually doesn't matter if she skips the bra.

   She can see a light in the window.

   Faith takes a deep breath and opens the door.

   "Honey, I'm home..."

 

**

 

   Willow looks up from her laptop. The Slayer glistens with rain, nipples prominent beneath the fabric of her shirt.

   "How'd it go?"

   "Didn't stake any vamps." Faith shuts the door, draping her jacket over a chair. "Gonna try to find some tomorrow night. Tonight," she amends. "Whatever."

   Willow frowns. The imprecision isn't exactly new, but something feels different. Faith appears almost preternaturally relaxed, aura thrumming with positive energy.

   "Where's little miss dark side?" The Slayer bends over, shaking excess moisture from her hair. "Don't tell me she ditched you after all that."

   "I tried to talk to her, but she just wanted me to drop her off at the library." Willow shakes her head. "That building is so tiny. It's like the broom closet of bookdom..." She breaks off, nose wrinkling in confusion.

   "What's that smell?"

   Faith plops into the chair and starts to unlace her boots.

   "Pretty much what you think."

   "I'm...thinking maybe I don't _want_ to think?" Willow's hands twist in her lap as she tries to concentrate on doing just that. It's working as well as you'd expect.

   "Look, it's no big deal." Faith kicks off her boots and reclines in the chair, regarding Willow with that maddening, uncharacteristic calm. "Girl thought I was gonna bust her and take her kid away. Had to put her at ease."

   "And if she offered you a needle?" Willow hates the sound of her own voice right now, yet she can't seem to stop herself. "Would you have shot up? To put her at ease?"

   "You gonna bust my balls over this?" The Slayer sounds almost friendly. "I'd just like to know. Before we start."

   "If this is some gesture of independence, because I got upset over that guy -- I'm sorry, and I don't want to be a control freak and I'm trying not to be judgmental and say the S-word but it was, it was stupid and you're stupid for doing it!" Her attempted calm in tatters, Willow throws herself headlong into the breech. "What if you're messed up next time the police are watching? Or you could get _killed_, what about that --"

   She sputters to a halt. Faith is still sitting in the chair, unblinking; not at all attempting to hide the hand slowly sliding under her dampened shirt.

   "What are you doing?"

   "Well, the traditional definition is _sex with someone you love_." Faith's eyelids flutter, her fingers giving a gentle twist. "But I like it better when it's you."

   Willow nearly closes her eyes to shut out the sight. "That's not fair."

   "Who said life was fair?" Faith sounds honestly curious, as opposed to sexy. Or outright manipulative. Which would make more sense because what is this, if not blatant --

   "Penny for your thoughts?" Faith stands up, discarding the shirt in a single fluid motion. Willow struggles for composure, mouth gone dry even as other parts of her rush to open the floodgates.

   "I'm not in habit of paying beautiful women to go to bed with me."

   "Sure you are." Faith is crawling onto the bed, nuzzling her neck, boobs swaying against her body. One more distraction. Make that two.

   "They all pay," the Slayer continues, as teeth nibble down her exposed collarbone. "One way or another..."

   Willow's brain is overflowing with witty protests, but the most striking aspect of her predicament is the calm manner of Faith's seduction. Far from detached, the brunette's touch is intense and focused as ever; familiar, yet exciting and new, igniting a fire deep inside. She clamps her mouth shut, biting back a potentially embarrassing moan.

   "I'm serious --"

   "Do I look like I'm foolin' around?" Faith chuckles, hot breath tickling her skin. "You don't have to answer that."

   "I mean it." The chasm of indecision yawns wider. Willow shuts her laptop, pushes it to one side, some distant part of her calculating the odds of it being kicked off the bed.

   "Must be the drugs." Faith's arm curls about her waist, holding Willow close. One free hand is stroking her cheek, adding to the poignancy of the kisses. "Yeah. Couldn't possibly be anything else."

   Willow can hear the telltale quiver, all too audible in her voice. "I'm trying to discuss...important stuff --"

   "Never been much of a talker."

   After which, there is less talk.

 

**

 

   Turns out someone does recognize him, before the day is through. Totally his own fault for spending too much time in the bar, albeit in the darkest corner. But fame is his currency, and even the remotest outpost is ripe with sprouted satellite dishes, in this day and age. So the hunter tries not to preen, warns his admirer not to blow his carefully worn cover; oh, and by the way, you wouldn't happen to have seen this man?

   Of course the local's star-struckness doesn't make him any smarter, or more observant. Still, he turns out to be helpful two different ways. The first is that he pays for the drinks until the hunter is perilously close to passing out in his seat. The second is the name he drops in the hunter's lap, a childish scrawl on a crumpled napkin.

   "Thas' right." The local offers a bleary nod, his eyes shot through with blood and whiskey. "Good ol' Ruby. Been workin' up the fillin' station couple years, now."

   "That so?" The hunter resists the urge to wave away the other man's acrid breath.

   "Absotively," the drunk slurs. "An' that woman sees _everyone_ comes through town. No man around to help raise that youngun -- always strugglin' ta make ends meet?" He nods again, replete with sloshed assurance. "Ain't nothin' she wouldn't do fer the right price."

   A slow, satisfied smile spills over the hunter's craggy features.

   "Why don't you let me get this one?"

   "Absotively!" The drunk beams, beatific to the last. "Yer a gennelman an' a scholar..."

   Actually, the hunter can't think of a soul who'd credit him with either title.

   But he'll take what he can get.

 

**

 

   Sometime later, Willow lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her disrobed form wrapped in a stray sheet; Faith's body draped atop her, slick with sweat.

   She only wants to bathe in sweet, still afterglow. Nonetheless, she forges ahead.

   "Don't think you're making a habit of this."

   "Fine." Faith yawns, shifting position, burrowing deeper into the hollow of her neck. "You win."

   "What's that?" Willow's attempt to sound appropriately stern is spoiled by the urge to laugh. She can't help it. Faith tickles.

   "I won't smoke with her again."

   Willow returns the embrace, choosing to remain silent. As if they both weren't perfectly aware of the endless layers of ambiguity.

   Time enough for that.

   Later.

 

**

 

   For the average married man and responsible corporate citizen, to turn off one's cell phone is among the most unthinkable of acts. For the hunter, blessed silence is an exercise in survival. At least for today. It's well past noon when he drags his dead ass upright, stumbling to the shower, downing a handful of headache powder from a frigging paper envelope -- do they sell pills here? Would the gelatin capsule be a miracle to these rubes?

   Thankfully, his neighbors on the opposite side are a damn sight quieter now. Apparently they're also night owls, still abed and notable in their absence when he returns from the diner bearing a hot and greasy bagful of starch.

   He checks his voicemail while he stuffs his face. Apart from the anticipated rants and raves from Wanda, promising dire consequences if not returned with all due speed, there's one from his not so baby girl, full of stammering apologies for her latest public disgrace. He thinks it'd be good to let her stew on that, but looking over the files is a reminder of just how grim his current prospects truly are. If this informant doesn't pan out, the trip home will be far sooner than he'd been hoping.

   Unfortunately, he manages to get off on precisely the wrong foot with Ruby. Cute as a bug -- and damn well preserved -- she might be nicer to look at than her wrinkled old boss, but her attitude could stand a good bit of adjustment. Could be it's not just strangers; maybe she's this nasty to everyone. Either way she's no help at all, and the hunter quickly departs, unwilling to push his luck any further.

   He resists the urge to slam the door as he climbs into the truck, glaring with palpable disgust at the scattered paperwork strewn about the front seat. The engine coughs before turning over, and the frown on his face deepens. Time to consider a change of career. Maybe a new name. Or at least not hauling the bike cross-country in this piece of crap.

   He's on the verge of pulling out when his eye catches a stunning brunette, striding into the gas station. The hunter leans over the steering wheel with an unconscious whistle, pulling down his shades for a better look.

   His brow furrows. The momentary flood of hormones arrested, as something tugs at his memory.

   He casually pulls down the visor, aiming the discreetly mounted telescopic lens; free hand rifling through the stack of papers beside him, latching onto a thick folder stuffed to bulging with printouts. The strange woman is oblivious, chattering away with Ruby, who looks ten times prettier now she's smiling.

   But there is no doubt he's seen that face before.

   And there it is.

   **CALIFORNIA DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE**

   **WANTED FOR HOMICIDE**

   **ARMED AND DANGEROUS**

 

**


	4. frogfarm: Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade" (Act 3)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade" (Act 3)** _

Happy 39th birthday to me!

>   
> _On the whole, tropes are not clichés. The word clichéd means "stereotyped and trite". In other words, dull and uninteresting. We are not looking for dull and uninteresting... We are here to recognize tropes and play with them, not to make fun of them._  
>  \- [TV Tropes](http://tvtropes.org/)

 

 

**Faith the Vampire Slayer**

 

1x03: "Renegade"

Act 3

 

([teaser](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/90573.html#cutid1))  
([Act 1](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/91586.html))  
([Act 2](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/91698.html))

 

 

 

 

   Although her original intent had been to continue the ongoing decadence and spend the entire day indoors in bed doing research, one look out the window during a particularly frustrating translation is enough to change Willow's mind. She scribbles a hasty note for Faith, unable not to hear her mother internally chastising her for not having the slightest of plans. But Tara's voice is stronger, saying _go, enjoy the beauty; see what there is to be seen..._

   The few hunters in the forest easily avoided, she doesn't bother with anything so mundane as searching for ley lines, or obvious points of power. It's enough to strike out into the great unknown, to follow whatever trail takes her fancy, scrambling over hill and dale in her smart yet sensible shoes until she's worked up a different kind of sweat, just as satisfying in its own way. The tiny glade she stumbles on is the perfect spot to rest and rejuvenate, and Willow returns to the motel with renewed energy and hope.

   She can't control Faith, or anyone else. Of course this is not at all true, in either the literal or technical sense. But when she was first brought before the coven, hollow and broken, Miss Harkness had started off with the fundamental maxim: _The first step toward self control is to acknowledge that to control others is wrong._

   Her own faults are many. She's no Goddess, and she damn well knows it. Some days it's all she can do to remind herself without feeling shame and disgust for what she's done. But Faith has her own garbage to deal with. And it's wrong for Willow to take out her problems and insecurities on her girlfriend.

   Or anyone else.

 

   Such wisdom is unfortunately harder to remember later that evening when she's sitting in the Solomon living room, making every effort to engage Lee Anne in some sort of conversation. The girl is intransigent in maintaining her barriers even as she feigns grudging allowance to permit her guest to give her a hand picking up.

   "I was always better at helping friends with homework." Willow thinks the joke fell flat. Hardly the first time.

   Lee Anne wipes her brow, actually glancing at Willow for what seems the first time since she walked in. The younger girl wears a kerchief over her hair, but her jeans and shirt are clean and dryer-fresh.

   "Aren't you supposed to be this big witch?"

   Willow tries not to let her thoughts show. Still, she's pretty sure where this is going.

   "Have you ever seen _The Sorceror's Apprentice_?"

   "Duh --" Lee Anne's offense at such an obvious question quickly fades. "Oh."

   "It's just a lot simpler this way." Willow smiles as she reaches over to brush a cobweb from the other girl's face. Lee Anne shys away, and the smile disappears.

   "Sorry," Willow mumbles, turning to hide her disappointment. "Where did you say this goes?"

   "How much longer they gonna be?"

   Lee Anne's concern and frustration are plain, and it's not as though Willow can't sympathize. You tell someone to expect the worst, they worry themselves into a heart attack. And when you tell them not to worry, someone they love comes home in a box. Maybe not at all.

   "It depends if they find anything. I could have made it easy -- I locate demonic energy all the time, with magic. It's how we found you. I mean your mom," she finishes, with a guilty look. "But that's shooting fish in a barrel. The idea is for her to learn how to track and find stuff on her own."

   "And then what?" Lee Anne looks increasingly distraught.

   "That depends." Willow is convinced her own expression isn't helping. "But it usually involves hitting stuff. Really, really hard."

   She tries not to blush at the younger girl's quizzical frown, the Spockish slant of her brow. On the verge of another attempt at reassurance, when --

   "Do you hear something?"

   The bang of boots on the porch is accompanied by muffled laughter. The door swings open, Ruby and Faith walking in wearing smiles -- Faith a tiny one, like she's trying not to, Ruby's grin threatening to split her face. Their clothes are stained with dirt and grass, scattered cuts and bruises visible on their exposed skin.

   "I _almost_ had you --"

   "Not even close." But Faith is still smiling as she turns to Lee Anne, who appears confused and appalled in equal measure. "Your mom's a real pistol."

   "What happened? Were there vampires?" Lee Anne sounds like her mother that first night, more than a little in shock. "I can't believe I just said that..."

   "No, baby." Ruby crosses the room in a couple of strides, grabbing the girl up in a hug. Lee Anne half-heartedly struggles to extract herself even as she returns the embrace.

   "Everything's cool." Ruby laughs again, full of amazement and life as she deposits her daughter back on solid ground.

   Willow can't help but glance in Faith's direction, some jealous madness inside her crying out to be heard. But there's no sign of anything untoward, be it sex or drugs. She smiles at the thought of rock and roll.

   "No luck?"

   "Good or bad," Faith confirms. "This place is a demon dead zone. Which you wanna keep an eye on," she continues, admonishing Ruby with a stern frown. "Might be a little something inside tellin' 'em to steer clear. Or maybe it's not even on their radar, and you could wake up one morning with a total Red Dawn scenario."

   "Bring 'em on." Ruby cracks her knuckles with a grin, and Faith's smile vanishes.

   "It's one thing to have confidence. Be stubborn enough to keep fighting when it's easier to quit." The younger Slayer's expression is deadly serious. "Being stupid -- that's somethin' else."

   Ruby looks like she's ready to snap back. Faith steps forward, one hand on the older woman's arm.

   "Some of these guys got a real stiff one for Slayers. This whole gunslinger deal. And there's plenty of stuff out there that can beat you down without breaking a sweat."

   Faith's calm tone is matched only by her uncharacteristically precise diction. Willow can see the fight fading from Ruby's eyes as the warning sinks in. With the new girls, this is always one of the hardest parts. But it makes sense that a woman her age would be more willing to listen to reason. Particularly one with a kid.

   "I'm not trying to scare you," Faith concludes. "Just tellin' the truth. Be smart -- you live longer. Probably," she adds with a shrug. "No guarantees, right?"

   "Okay, just stop right there --" Said kid, it would seem, is less sanguine. There's the slightest of stutters in Lee Anne's voice, whether from anger or fear. "We're talking about killing things? Maybe gettin' killed?"

   "We did kind of go over all that at the start." Willow interjects this before Faith can say the same thing, only less polite. From the look on the Slayer's face, it was only a matter of time. "And the getting killed -- not exactly plan A."

   "Look," Faith cuts in. "Even if she's not gonna make it her new full time career -- which I wouldn't recommend, 'cause the pay sucks -- it's safer for everybody if she's got some clue what to do if it comes down to it. That's common sense."

   "No." Lee Anne slowly pulls the kerchief from her head, not even looking at them, staring blankly into space. "There ain't nothin' common...or sensible...about _any_ of this."

   "Honey --" Ruby steps forward. But the look on her daughter's face freezes her in her tracks.

   "I'm goin' out," Lee Anne manages, faint and faraway. Willow watches as the girl grabs her jacket from the coat rack by the door, fumbling with the knob and making a hasty exit, practically slamming it in her wake.

   She turns to Ruby, apologies bubbling up from her brain to force their way out. The older Slayer merely shrugs.

   "She'll be back."

   Willow can't help but feel responsible. "Do you want us to --"

   "You've done enough for one day." The weary smile says this is not entirely in jest as Ruby waves away the concern. "You let me worry about her."

   Willow forces herself to accept this, letting Faith say their goodbyes. When it comes to worry, there's always plenty to go around.

   For everyone.

 

**

 

   Faith's enlightened attempt to remain copacetic and Zen goes only so far, even under the best conditions. In this case, her good mood has been spoiled more than she'd like to admit, and she's doing her best to refrain from taking it out on Willow. The afterburn from the earlier funfest was still fresh when she and Ruby had first hit the streets, initially contributing to some confusion -- not used to laying before Slaying, as it were. But the impromptu chase and tussle had been just what the doctor ordered.

   She really doesn't get the big deal. Whatever demons are haunting this woman's daughter, their relationship seems a hell of a lot more functional than most of the ones she's familiar with. Willow disagrees, and this is bad enough before you factor in -- as Faith is beginning to -- the complete inability of someone with her girlfriend's vaunted intellectual prowess to describe these reservations in anything but the vaguest of terms.

   "I know you want to help." Faith doesn't think she's doing that bad a job of sounding rational. "That's why we're here. I just don't think we should be playin' armchair psychologist."

   "I took psychology." Willow's lower lip remains stubborn and set. "Granted, from a tragically misguided government scientist who created a nigh-unstoppable killing machine. But the point is --"

   "Point is, we show up, throw all this in their face -- and now you wanna give 'em therapy? From where I sit, looks like they're dealin' a lot better'n most people."

   "And sometimes sitting isn't enough," Willow insists. "Sometimes, you have to stand up and get involved. Be proactive instead of reactive?"

   "Talkin' to the original proactive girl here. But I don't see how stirring up more shit is gonna help anyone." Faith modulates herself to a lower pitch, trying to sound reasonable. "Like I told her mom. If Wednesday there can pull the stick out, maybe we can ship _her_ to London. See the sights, give her some kinda job...anything to get her outta here. If she really hates it that much."

   Willow regards her, clearly troubled at the vehement sarcasm of this final clause.

   "You think she hates being here?"

   "Hell, I don't know." Faith looks away. "Maybe she don't know what a good thing she's got."

 

**

 

   The hunter spends the day studiously ignoring calls, going over his options. Without his usual methodic research, what should be a simple snatch and grab has all the greater potential to flare into a true clusterfuck. It shouldn't be this tempting to wait another forty-eight hours or more for the mobile crew to arrive. But looking like he needs help? With a girl?

   That's not good TV.

   His barfly contact happily provides an address, and the hunter takes a drive by while Ruby is still at work, scoping out the lay of the land. House could stand some work, but it's far from a wreck; one of the few residences that isn't some modified trailer or homegrown dome, carved hobbit-like out of the mountainside.

   He returns to the motel and checks all his weaponry three times, including the camera. The house itself is barely visible at the right angle if he used the telescope, but standing at the window isn't worth it. He can see when Ruby passes by, looking more bright eyed and bushy tailed than anyone's got a right to; hear the hoots and hollers echoing throughout the forest long after sundown, into the wee hours. The final part of the equation is the sound of footsteps outside on the stair, the adjoining door being unlocked and closed, followed by muffled voices being raised in heated debate.

   The streets are deserted as he chugs to a stop outside Ruby's home. It takes her a few minutes to respond to his knock, her natural suspicion amplified.

   "Ma'am, I realize we got off to a bad start. And I'd perfectly understand if you weren't keen on inviting strangers in at this hour. Or any other."

   She nods, unyielding. "Go on."

   "But I give you my word, I am not here for robbery, rape, or any of that nonsense. I ain't that kind of man, and I don't need the press."

   Her gaze narrows. He can always see it when it happens; the general sense of recognition transforming into the certain knowledge of celebrity.

   "So what _do_ you want?"

   "Now that, I'd prefer not to discuss in front of anyone's ears but your own." The affable tone implies this is solely for her protection. "Can I come in?"

   She folds her arms, stepping away from the door.

   "I don't know. Can you?"

   So the attitude is undiminished. He sighs as he crosses the threshold, ignoring the subtle change of expression on her face.

   "What I won't do is mess around." The hunter keeps his voice even and pleasant. No need to bring out the big guns just yet. "You've been a bad girl. But not as bad as someone else."

   Ruby's arms remain folded, her impressive biceps standing out under the sleeveless shirt. Girl must have three times the ink on her arms he's got on his whole body.

   "Mister, you got two seconds to convince me you ain't some pervert with a camera lookin' to score a little on the side. Assumin' any self-respectin' woman in her right mind'd say her I do's for a plug-ugly mullethead yankee like yourself."

   He stifles a grin. Mom's got more spunk than he bargained for. Too bad his time is limited.

   "Miz Solomon, you might want to be more polite to a man who could put a good bit of cash in your pocket." He lets this sink in. "Or put your pretty ass through the wringer, if you don't cooperate."

   She swallows, but remains silent.

   "Now you've been harborin' a fugitive. And I'm not talkin' about Hadley Willits. Don't try denyin' it," he warns, seeing her ready to interrupt. "I got the two of you on tape, together, and I can nail you to the wall if it suits my purpose. That's the way it is, and the sooner you accept that the sooner you and I can quit bein' enemies. Start helpin' each other out."

   Ruby shakes her head, pale with anger. The hunter smiles.

   "Oh, I know what you're thinkin'. Soon as I walk out that door, you'll be on the phone, tellin' her to run for the hills." His smile grows larger at her impotent fury. "Or you could play it smart. Perform a public service...walk away with a nice reward."

   "I got nothin' more to say to you." He can see her fist tighten; practically taste the tension and defiance, how badly she wants to lash out regardless of the cost.

   "You're sure about that?" The best part is he doesn't need to get angry. "We're talkin' state _and_ federal charges. Tie you up in court for years even if you do get off. Could lose this house...lose your kid."

   Lightning flickers in her eyes.

   "Or maybe you got something else to hide." He presses further on cruel instinct, pursuing the fear he can almost smell. "Something you wouldn't want the law to know about. Or that little girl..."

   Ruby is motionless, hands clutching the back of a nearby chair.

   "You need to leave." The words come out in a choked, deadly whisper.

   "I'll let myself out." He offers a sarcastic tip of his hat. "You give it some thought, now."

 

   Ruby stares after him, gripping the door frame.

   A piece of it wrenches free in her hand.

   She looks down at the hunk of wood; the pool of red forming around the sizable splinter.

   "_Mother--_"

 

**

 

   "Hello?"

   Lee Anne raps louder, shivering despite her coat. Since the strangers came she's been seeing spooks and spirits in every shadow, childhood fairy tales and paperback fantasies fleeing in terror before an onslaught of grungy, uncertain images.

   No answer. She kneels and locates the key under the rock, heartbeat louder in her ears as she fits metal to metal. The yellow buglight by the door buzzes with activity.

   As usual the trailer is cramped, but passably clean. Also empty. Probably out partying.

   Just like everyone else.

   "Darn it, Jeremy..." She sinks into the tattered couch with a sigh, resting her head on her hands.

   "Where the heck _are_ you?"

 

**

 

   There's no good reason to feel this way; no excuse for the nervous tickle in the back of his throat. Probably his heart coming up as he stands on the porch. Failing to gather the courage to knock...

   "It's open."

   He almost jumps, then reaches reflexively for the handle, imagining it warm and slippery in his fingers.

   Ruby sits at the kitchen table, wearing jeans and a sleeveless tank top, gazing in calm reflection at a shot glass full of amber. The accompanying bottle shows a distinct lowering in level. Her left hand sports a makeshift bandage, a scrap of old shirt stained in red.

   He ventures an opening sally. "How'd you know it was me?"

   "Maybe I smelled ya." An apologetic grin, as her own crassness brings her back down to earth.

   "Sorry. That didn't sound too good."

   "More'n one shower a day's unhealthy. _And_ inefficient." He can feel his face grow warm despite the attempt at witty riposte. Ruby doesn't notice, having returned to observing her glass.

   "Your profile." She gestures vaguely at the window. "Kinda stands out. No big ugly...hat."

   He peers at her, concern overtaking selfconsciousness.

   "Someone botherin' you?"

   "I hope not you." The forced quality to her cheer is forgotten when she produces a second glass, placing it on the table with a flourish. "And I hope you'll be courteous enough to help me put this poor soldier out of his misery."

   The warmth returns, bearing a screaming litter of whelps.

   "Uh...I just wanted to ask what a good day was to finish up out there. Like I told them -- I don't wanna get in the way...of whatever y'all are doin'," he finishes, feeling lamer than a man with two crutches. "I ain't in no rush...I know you're good for it --"

   "Oh, dear Lord." Ruby's determined look turns crestfallen, guilty. "You ain't even twenty-one, are you?"

   "Next month." Her embarrassment is threatening to outstrip his, if that's possible. But somehow they're smiling, shamefaced, unable to keep from laughing at themselves.

   "Damn." Her deep, rich chuckle is enough to stir him even without the rising blush in her own cheeks. "I truly must be goin' round the bend and over the hill."

   He lowers himself into the other chair, as much for manners as to conceal the sudden interest John Thomas is taking in the situation.

   "But I don't think your momma -- God rest her soul -- would object to her one and only son havin' himself an honest drink." Her smile fades as she stares down at her own glass. "'Less you don't want one."

   He hesitates. When she looks back up, there's mischief aplenty brewing on that face.

   "Would it help if I said I knew where my girl's been gettin' her drink on?"

   Jeremy swallows. The fact that she isn't tearing him limb from limb is sufficient to warrant careful consideration. At the very least, she doesn't seem to be accusing him of improprieties.

   "Maybe I will have just one." He manages to sound casual as he shoves the glass her way.

   Ruby chuckles once more, slopping it not quite to overflowing.

   "You kids." The sting is muted by the obvious affection. "Y'all think you invented all this on your own."

   He accepts the glass, knocks it back before he can think. The roar of heat is almost enough to make him lose his cool and his lunch at once.

   "Good stuff, ain't it?" She nods at the bottle. "My daddy used to drink this. Whenever he could afford it." Her ephemeral smile fades once more. "Can't much afford it myself."

   "I wish I'd got the chance to know him." He raises the empty glass with a nod of respect. "To your daddy."

   She raises an eyebrow as he sets it down. "You gonna make that a real toast?"

   He's ready to stammer an apology, but the twinkle is back in her eye. Jeremy grins.

   "Twist my arm."

   "Careful what you wish." It actually sounds like a warning as she tops him off, raising her own glass with a newly sober demeanor. "To my daddy."

   Their glasses clink. This time, it goes down smoother.

   "I ever tell you all the grief I gave him over my name?"

   "Reckon not." He covers the glass with one hand, declining the proffered refill. She pours herself a double without comment.

   "I don't know if he heard that damn song one too many times or what. Never did get a straight answer 'bout much outta that man." She tosses her shot back without the slightest flicker of reaction.

   "When I was just about Lee Anne's age -- right when I was gettin' all these --" Ruby indicates the expanse of needlework adorning both arms, extending up and over her shoulders. "Told him I was goin' straight down to that courthouse and filin' for a change. Didn't want no part of him."

   Jeremy nods, acknowledging the original impulse and her obvious current regret. "First or last?"

   "Hadn't studied much on a last. You know how it is." She offers a wave of dismissal. pushing back a few loose strands of hair. "Kinda had my heart set on Rachel."

   He nods again. "That's a nice name."

   "I ain't so nice."

   His confusion at her words is tempered solely by some buried, long-dormant instinct; the only unclear aspect whatever role he himself is destined for, whether predator or prey. Her fingers grip the glass as she stares him down, abandoning all pretense.

   "You shouldn't be here..."

   Jeremy's frantic studying on whether he should stand is surpassed by the certainty that somehow, this will only make matters worse. "I can leave --"

   "No --" Her breath comes heavier as she shakes her head. "I want you, that's _why_ you shouldn't be here. 'Cause I'm a sad old woman tryin' to feel young and ain't it bad enough me peekin' out my window every day you're around thinkin' how goddamn bad I want you so much --"

   He wants to tell her she's not old; she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Maybe she can see it in his eyes. Or she just doesn't care, because she's rising up like some avenging angel, grabbing him by his shirt, practically throwing him against the sink. She might have a few pounds on him, though he's too much the gentleman to say so, but she barely comes up to his chin. The strength in her grip is frightening, her kisses desperate with hunger.

   "Want you so bad," she repeats, something like a sob in his ear. "But -- I ain't got no protection --"

   "That ain't nothin' to me --" His entire body is on fire as he loses himself in hers. Liquor stings his lip where her teeth sank in; their hands skimming one another like a puzzle, unwilling to let go in their blind quest for bare flesh.

   "You just sit right there..." He manages to hoist her onto the counter when she divines his purpose, shifting her weight in his arms, half-jumping up and landing with a breathless squeak. They're both trembling as she lifts her legs, cooperating fully in shucking off her jeans.

   He sinks to his knees with a moan of appreciation, burying himself in her warmth as a primal groan wrenches itself from her lips.

   After that, things get a good deal hazier.

   The sum of Jeremy's experience in these matters, while more limited than might be guessed by his friends and acquaintances, is of reasonable scope. And nobody's ever complained of the result being in any way less than satisfactory. But it's all he can do to hang on, let alone keep up; Ruby is more than a force of nature, she's a goddess, and this is heaven. Apart from his jaw beginning to ache...

   Finally she seems to come down. He raises his head, and a shiver runs through his entire being at the wild gleam in her eyes.

   Then the fear passes, leaving only familiar lust.

   "C'mere..." She beckons with one curled finger, a crooked grin spreading over her flushed and sweating features. He obeys, unable to resist; crawling up her body to resume the kiss, feeling a fluttering thrill at the pleasure she seems to derive from the taste of herself.

   A hiss catches in his throat as one hand deftly extracts him through the fly of his underwear, balls and all. He's already closer than he'd like, her slow, agonizing strokes drawing him toward the edge at an alarming rate, bringing the most unmanly groan imaginable from his own strangled voicebox.

   She hops off the counter, ducking down. Some sane or insane part of him dredges up words.

   "You don't have to --"

   Her subsequent actions put a stop to all argument. Other than incoherent noise, which is what she's reduced him to. His knees are threatening to buckle as she stands up, lust smoldering hotter than ever on her face. He grabs her when she hesitates, pulling her close; kissing her without restraint or reservation, inflamed at the knowledge he was just inside that luscious mouth. She seems to love him all the more for it, returning the kiss with equal enthusiasm.

   "Not this time," she mutters, taking him in hand once again. "Wanna see your face...come on baby, there ya go..."

   "Ah, Jesus --" He's got a split second to think on the first time he did this for himself, trying to come up with something to shout that wouldn't blaspheme as much as the act itself. Her hungry gaze drinks him up, watching him making the biggest damn fool of himself, his own face screwed up in a rictus of pain; half holding him up with one arm, his hips thrusting uncontrollably as she jerks him to shattering conclusion.

   The room sways in his vision, ocean roaring in his ears. Jeremy clutches the counter, dimly horrified at the mess he's got to be making of her linoleum.

   "Oh, Jesus --"

   The bottom drops out of his stomach. This is real horror; dragged back to cold, messy reality at the disbelief and anguish in that voice.

   Lee Anne stands in the doorway, one hand over her mouth, taking in the sight of them. He can only return the stare, hunched over in a futile struggle to cover himself, still gripping the counter just to keep from falling down.

   Ruby clears her throat. "Baby --"

   Lee Anne turns and flees, leaving the screen door free and swinging in her wake.

   "Oh shit..." Jeremy can feel panic rising as the blood begins to return to his brain. "Oh, shit...Lee Anne! Wait up --"

   "God dammit, settle down." Ruby sounds more weary than irritated, but there's more than enough snap to her tone to slap some sense back into him. "Think she'll come runnin' back with you wavin' your tackle around?"

   Cheeks aflame, he stuffs himself back in his trousers with a wince. She's already grabbed her jeans, turning away, the flare of her hips as she bends over bringing a fresh surge from his recalcitrant cock.

   "Make yourself scarce." She grabs a roll of paper towels, avoiding his eyes as she kneels to mop up his spilled seed. "I'll sort it out with her."

   His body is humming with aftershock, muscles burning, thoughts awash in misery as his mind refuses to stop spinning.

   "Look on the bright side," she continues, scrubbing harder. "'Least we both got some."

   He would try to give her a hug. Maybe a kiss. But she suddenly seems so fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest touch inside the invisible wall thrown up around her.

   "I'll call you," he manages. "Okay?"

   "Go on, now." She still refuses to meet his gaze. "'Fore you embarrass yourself further."

   Good advice.

 

**

 

   He's had his eye on Ruby's since he left, watching from an old tree stand in the woods, long abandoned by some other hunter. There's a clear shot from here with the trank if his new target should return. Though a hands-on takedown is always more dramatic. His knees are just beginning to protest, thankful it's not the middle of winter, when things start to heat up.

   He watches the proceedings with keen interest and growing amusement, calculating the possibilities as the silent soap opera plays itself out. Not hard to read between the lines, even with most of the action off camera. He clambers down from the tree, sprinting back to the truck in an effort to limber up.

   He's waiting with the engine idling when the wayward youth emerges from the house in a daze, stumbling down the street like some cartoon zombie.

   "Need a lift?"

   The boy peers at him, trying to make sense of it all.

   "New in town," the hunter smiles. "Show a man where to get a drink, I'd be glad to spot you one."

   "Ain't far," the boy demurs. Still, he clambers in when the hunter leans over and pops the door. Never the best of times to be thinking clearly.

   Kid doesn't seem to catch on until they drive right past the tavern, picking up speed. He's expecting a challenge; a grab for the door handle, a daring last-minute dive out onto the dirt. But the boy just sits there in his peripheral vision, stupid and silent. It's not until the hunter pulls off the main road, coasting up to the edge of the forest, that his quarry thinks to protest.

   "Hey, I ain't into no queer stuff --"

   "Shut up," the hunter amiably replies. "And get out."

   The kid obeys with commendable speed, glancing around the clearing. The hunter sighs, pulling out his pistol, and the boy freezes like a spooked hind as the click of metal falls into place.

   "Don't run," the hunter adds. He'd like to think this is unnecessary, but experience has shown otherwise.

   "What do you want?"

   The hunter smiles again. Kid's not doing so bad. Most folks by now would be weeping, on their knees. Maybe piss themselves.

   "I'll ask the questions." He takes a step forward, pausing to relish the unconscious flinch in the boy's posture. That young and wiry body no doubt conceals greater strength than it would appear. But this isn't about strength.

   "See, I'm here to do a job." He makes a casual, offhand gesture; finger well clear of the trigger as the kid's eyes follow every motion of his gun hand. _Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain..._

   "And I got a fine plan already," he continues. "But I always prefer to have a backup."

   "Mister, you --"

   The words end in a wet, hollow grunt as his left fist connects with the boy's jaw, sending him sprawling.

   "Hoo-_whee_!" The hunter whistles, wiping his hand with an exaggerated gesture. "You got that whore's stench _all_ over you, son!"

   "Bastard --" The response is predictable, a burst of wordless rage as the boy scrambles up on all fours, launching himself at his attacker's legs. He avoids the clumsy strike with practiced ease, landing a kick to exposed ribs. The boy curls like a cooked shrimp, and the hunter follows up with a good old-fashioned pistol whip right over one handsome, well-chiseled cheekbone.

   "Demon rum too, if I'm not mistaken." He kneels beside the writhing body, grabbing that skinny neck as he puts the bulk of his weight on the opposite knee, trapping one flailing arm against the ground. "Accounts for those slow reflexes. Now you ain't the big dog, so shut your pretty mouth and listen up or I'll rip your nuts off and leave 'em on a barb wire fence for that bitch to find come morning. You savvy?"

   The struggles cease, even as the ventilation of his prey grows more hyper.

   "No fun gettin' beat on, is it?" His fingers form a steel vise around the boy's throat. "Well I promise you, there is plenty more where that came from. More'n you can handle." He leans down, pushing his quarry's face against the gravel.

   "Unless you help a brother out."

 

**

 

   "Help me out here --"

   "You want a picture? Gimme a crayon." Faith looks as though she's on the verge of throwing up her hands. "Both of us there is just too much pressure. With _or_ without that kid around."

   "And why is she _that_ kid?" Willow can feel her snark approaching the red. "Because she didn't get a chance to bond with you over margaritas and a hookah?"

   "Ball busting." Faith offers a clipped nod of military precision. "Check."

   Willow pinches the bridge of her nose.

   "I'm sorry if I'm harping on that. I don't want to be a harpy. But I'm not sorry for being concerned about you, and I don't think this is a good time for us to be splitting up..."

   "We're not splitting up." The Slayer's words are harsh. "_I'm_ goin' to talk to Ruby. And you're gonna find that kid and either beat some sense into her --"

   "Why is violence always your first option?"

   "-- or talk at her 'til you turn blue," Faith continues, harsh and implacable. "In which case you got _way_ better odds than me on her decidin' to open up and share."

   "And you don't have to be so dismissive --"

   "-- and we are _not_ playin' fantastic voyagin' hitchhiker --"

   "It was just a suggestion!" Willow realizes too late she's shouting, though the damage is obviously already done. "I thought it would be easier for everyone --"

   "Easier for you." The Slayer's scornful scowl is merciless in its judgment. "First you tell me it's only for emergencies, then you turn around and wanna 'use my eyes' whenever someone rubs you the wrong way? How about usin' your own. And you can start by lookin' in the damn mirror."

   "Faith --"

   "Need some fresh air." Faith grabs her jacket, not looking back. "Goin' out for a smoke."

   Willow sits on the bed for long moments after the door has shut, the sound of footsteps faded. She can see the other woman's side of things with the perfect clarity of hindsight. Hubris not so much this time -- yay her -- but it won't do any good to sit around patting herself on the back, any more than beating herself up. None of that will help find Lee Anne, and despite her rankling sense of rebellion at being forced to agree with Faith, it's clear that the girl should be her first priority. For now.

   She slips on her coat, filling her pockets with one or two raw ingredients. Most seasoned practitioners would likely be impressed into incontinence by the things she's capable of without a single spoken syllable, in any language. But again -- low tech has its advantages.

   Willow looks up, startled.

   There is a knock at the door.

 

**


	5. frogfarm: Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade" (conclusion)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Faith the Vampire Slayer 1x03: "Renegade" (conclusion)** _   
_In which Some are Less Careful than Others; and we all Learn something before it's done._

**ADD:** Special guest star [Renee O'Connor as Ruby](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/87973.html#cutid1).

 

**Faith the Vampire Slayer**

 

1x03: "Renegade"

Conclusion

 

([teaser](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/90573.html#cutid1))  
([Act 1](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/91586.html))  
([Act 2](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/91698.html))  
([Act 3](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/92237.html))

 

 

 

   Why does it always come down to this? One of them storming off, the other staring miserably after?

   One of these days, it'll be her doing the staring. And won't that be a

   (_cold day in hell_)

   kick in the head?

   Faith jogs along the edge of the woods, thoughts racing like the wind at her heels. Replaying a non-physical fight in your head is one of the most pointless exercises she can imagine, but right now she's having trouble doing much of anything else. Sounding better, for the record: Honing her arguments; landing precise, fatal strikes without a wasted move. What Willow calls _the spirit of the stairway_.

   Lovely fantasy. Meanwhile, back in the world -- real as it gets -- she's still sleeping with the queen of the debate team. Probably the treasurer, too.

   So who cares who wins?

   Can't they just get along?

   The moon is riding high as she emerges from the forest into Ruby's back yard. Still early enough in the year that sunrise is only a few hours away. Not that Faith's had any kind of a sleep schedule since they stopped having nap time at school.

   Her knock goes unanswered longer than expected. She's debating whether to go around front when her second, louder attempt brings forth a cross yell.

   "Dammit, I told you to get your tomcattin' ass home --" Ruby's eyes go wide as she reaches and grabs the younger Slayer by one arm, pulling her inside.

   Faith is all set to fight back, but one look at her protege's paranoia silences any objections. The older woman glances this way and that before shutting both doors, throwing the deadbolt with a grim look that borders on morbid.

   "We gotta get you outta here." Ruby's declaration rings with fatalistic finality. "Double time."

   "What's the buzz?" Faith can easily feel the tension radiating from the other woman like a porcupine's bristling quills. But her own sense of danger is the pinnacle and quintessential example of a finely honed instrument. Nothing else in or around the house, human or supernatural.

   "I'm tryin' to help you." Ruby's voice is softer despite her obvious exasperation, no less urgent. "I'm trying -- to not do the easy thing. You need to leave while you still can. You _and_ your friend --"

   "Hold up!" Faith literally does so, once more stopping the flow of words with an upraised hand. "What's easy? What aren't you doin'? What are you --" She pauses, abruptly cold and controlled.

   "What are you _not_ tellin' me?"

   Ruby draws herself up to her full height. "You didn't tell _me_ everything."

   Faith returns the stare. "Did you?"

   Ruby doesn't flinch, though her resolve appears to waver. Faith takes the opportunity to exploit that moment of weakness. Any port in a storm.

   "We're concerned about your daughter." She manages not to cough, but the look on Ruby's face is about how Faith feels, just having to say it. "Well -- my friend's concerned. _I_ think she's fine. Lee Anne, I mean. My friend, she can be a few crackers short of a barrel --"

   Ruby grabs her by both arms. This time, Faith is more than ready to fire back, and still she hesitates. Her new friend

   (_there's that word_)

   is genuinely scared.

   "Just tell me." She bites back anything more, watching the maelstrom in the other woman's eyes.

   Ruby takes a deep breath, something in her expression hardening. When she speaks, there's a crisp new authority to her tone, all the more apparent by its previous absence.

   "You runnin' from the law?"

   Faith discards a dozen answers, settles in half a second. "Always."

   "Then you need to be runnin'. 'Cause it ain't caught up to you yet, but where this peckerwood goes the law is sure to follow. And it will _always_ take his side." Ruby regards her, one eyebrow raised, a hint of sarcasm making its way to the surface. "Any of this gettin' through?"

   "Kinda lost in translation." Faith doesn't smile. "But I think I got the jist."

   "Then what are you waitin' for?" Ruby urges. "Grab your girlfriend and get the hell outta Dodge. I can stall him if he comes back --"

   "Whoa, whoa. Back the truck up." Faith wants to tear herself loose from the other woman's grasp. Instead she returns it, striving for reassurance as she meets Ruby's gaze head on.

   "Unless they're sendin' the Army -- you can sit this one out. Couple guys with guns, I can handle."

   Ruby shakes her head.

   "Far as you're concerned? This fellow's got something a hell of a lot more dangerous."

   Faith pauses before taking the bait. "What's that?"

   Ruby looks ready to spit.

   "A TV show."

 

**

 

   Willow envisions a ball of fire. Swelling in her hand; rocketing out to envelop and consume her target, reducing it to ashes.

   Then she blinks, coming back down to earth.

   She creeps forward on tiptoe, hoping her shadow isn't giving her away through the window. There's a Turkish spell Dawn emailed her that allows the caster to see through walls, but she can't remember how the third line goes. Something about fuzzy dice --

   Her eye falls on the privacy peephole, mounted in the door at eye level. Willow has the good grace to blush.

   _Are we learning yet?_

   She holds her breath as she peers outside. Lee Anne stands at the top of the wobbly wooden steps, twitching like a rabbit in the crosshairs.

   Her first impulse is to offer sanctuary. But the tactical decision maker in her brain has only grown stronger since she first accepted the existence of magic. Even without the involvement of the supernatural, it's hardly a stretch to suspect a trap. Someone else out there, off to the side. Maybe with a gun...

   One way or another, the girl's distress is too much to ignore. Willow conjures an invisible force bubble, surrounding her body, ready to project outward at the slightest hint of danger.

   There's not another soul in sight when she opens the door. She extends her senses out, finds only the sleeping hotel manager downstairs.

   "I'm sorry --" A sniffling hiccup escapes Lee Anne's throat. The girl appears profoundly relieved even as her upset deepens, struggling to regain composure. "Can I come in?"

   "Are you a vampire?" Willow's already sorry for the automatic reaction, but it never pays to get sloppy.

   "I'm about ready to bite _someone_." The tears vanish as Lee Anne strides angrily inside, flings herself into the recliner with a glare somewhere around the boiling point of tungsten. "God almighty, I'm so sick of this place!"

   Willow offers a rueful smile. "Feeling sorry you ever wished for a little excitement to liven things up?"

   Lee Anne's gaze flickers over her and away, per usual.

   "Somethin' like that."

   Willow crosses her legs, smoothing the blankets on the bed around her.

   "My home town was only a couple of hours from LA. Had a coffeeshop and everything. But it always felt like the most boring place on earth." Willow smiles, allowing her nostalgia full reign. "Even before I was semi-professionally fighting the forces of evil -- we had this game. We called it Anywhere But Here?"

   Lee Anne sneaks another sidereal glance. "How's it work?"

   "If you could be anywhere but here. Where would you want to be?"

   Lee Anne seems taken aback as she mulls this over.

   "Never much thought about the where. Just..." The girl shakes her head, pushing dyed black ends from her eyes. "Somewhere I can be myself."

   Willow regards her in silence for a long moment.

   "Life can be hard when you're a Slayer. But it's hard on everybody. That's just life." Willow pauses, forging ahead when no response is forthcoming. "And for those of us who don't have superpowers -- sometimes, it can be a lot tougher just knowing someone who's a Slayer. To share that kind of life with them."

   Lee Anne's original skepticism is back, as if it never left. "Are you _sure_ you're a witch?"

   Willow says nothing, holding up one hand.

   The luminous glow spreads across her fingers, encompassing her body, filling the entire room. Lee Anne's open mouth and eyes attest to her amazement; clashing with profound comprehension of something deeper and vaster than herself. And another emotion, that Willow recognizes only now.

   (_worship_)

   The light vanishes. Lee Anne blinks, suddenly near tears at its loss.

   "I wasn't always." Willow's smile is gentle, with a hint of sadness.

   Lee Anne swallows, wiping her eyes. But she doesn't look away, her awe-filled stare truly seeing the older girl for the first time.

   Something clicks in Willow's mind. Once again, she approaches the problem from a non-obvious angle.

   "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

   "No." Lee Anne blinks, shivering as she returns to _terra firma_. "How about -- _God_, no."

   Willow contemplates an angle even less obvious. "This might sound weird, but...would you be more comfortable talking to Faith?"

   Lee Anne's surprise is nearly hopeful, before this fleeting optimism is dashed once more upon the rocks.

   "I don't think so." The girl sighs in frustration, hands twisting in her lap. "It ain't her -- or you, I mean -- you've been really nice. Even after I was a right bitch. And you're like, super smart --"

   "Brains aren't everything." Willow ignores the vague swelling suddenly taking place up top. "But I get the impression you're a lot smarter than you let on."

   "It's just --" Lee Anne struggles for words before bursting out. "How can men be so _stupid_?"

   Willow manages not to laugh, or even smile. Her initial humor at the girl's outrage quickly fades to a serious mien.

   "Trust me. They don't have a monopoly."

   "Got that right," Lee Anne mutters. "Maybe somethin' in the water. Makes old people crazy."

   Willow sends out the most cautious of probes. "Is this about your mom?"

   Lee Anne looks stricken.

   "You don't have to talk about it." Willow hurries to correct her course. "In fact -- forget I brought it up. See? This is me, talking about whatever you want. Or nothing at all, you know, I'm getting a lot better at that --"

   She trails off at the other girl's expression. Lee Anne's grief shines hard and bright with the anger of betrayal.

   Willow searches for filler, settles for platitude. "Parents are crazy."

   "Can we not talk about her?" Lee Anne pleads. "God, I don't even wanna _think_ about it! Every time I shut my eyes, it's like I'm seein' it all over --"

   "Okay," Willow interjects. "I don't want to pry? But my semi-professional concern is going to have to insist on some sort of explanation, sooner or --"

   "Sex!" Lee Anne shouts, turning crimson. "Jesus Christ, I walked in on my own _mother_ havin' --" She grinds to a sputtering, red-faced halt.

   "Sex?" Willow ventures.

   "That explain enough for you?" Lee Anne is no less bitter in her relief at no longer having to bear the burden of secrecy. Willow again finds herself having to hide her own amusement.

   "So was it just the having? Or was it the _who_..." Willow trails off.

   "Oh honey, I'm so sorry." Her impulse to walk over and hug the younger girl is held in check by the last vestige of appropriate boundaries. "I'm sure she didn't do it to hurt you..."

   "Well, duh." The pain in Lee Anne's eyes is quickly shielded. "His fault too."

   "Jeremy?" Willow can sense the pieces falling together, still too vague in outline to discern their final form. "You really like him, don't you?"

   "When he ain't bein' a pure damn fool." Lee Anne looks and sounds ready to give the boy in question a thrashing for his alleged lack of smarts. "Supposed to be my best friend! Some friend --"

   "Wait --" Willow's face screws up. "You're not...more than friends? Or want to be?"

   "What?" Lee Anne's puzzlement turns to horrified realization of a different kind. "No! God, what --" Her mouth clamps shut.

   "Okay, help me out." Willow tries to sound methodical rather than impatient. "If you...didn't have your eye on him, or -- what's the problem? Besides the parents having sex thing. Which I admit can be enough of a shock to the system --"

   "You ain't whistlin' Dixie. And ain't _that_ a groan and a half." Lee Anne falls back in her chair. "I'd have been happy livin' the rest of my life without walkin' in on..." She shivers, like she's stepping on a week-old dead bird. "_That_."

   "Honey, it's perfectly natural. Maybe not the most dignified activity in terms of appearance, but --" Willow stops, redirecting herself.

   "Tell me about Jeremy."

   Lee Anne squirms in her seat.

   "Well...he's only two years older'n me." A grudging smile appears under the mask of anger. "Knowed him my whole life. Growin' up, everyone always acted like we'd get hitched."

   Willow doesn't interrupt. Lee Anne's accent is growing stronger; her tone less harsh and unforgiving.

   "But I s'pose he's more like a brother." The wave of negativity comes crashing back down, sweeping away this temporary indulgence. "Always was sweet on her, even when we was kids. Then last summer she starts actin' all -- wearin' short shorts every time he come over, and _he's_ sniffin' around like some braindead old hound dog --"

   Willow waits for the deluge to slow to a trickle, and finally a stop.

   "How long have you known?"

   Lee Anne's confusion appears to stem from more than the ambiguity. "Known what?"

   Willow gives her best sympathetic look.

   "That you were gay."

   Lee Anne starts to respond, stops and starts again. Her cheeks are taking on an almost purple cast.

   "Faith might have been the one to figure out your mom was the Slayer." Willow's smile is one of camaraderie rather than victory. "But my lesbidar is definitely improving."

   Lee Anne stares into her lap.

   "You should get home." Willow tries to make it sound like a suggestion. "Your mom's worried."

 

**

 

   The darkened sky is shot through with Halloween orange, heralding imminent sunrise as Faith makes her way up the street. The motel's stark silhouette looms on the hill like Norman Bates' worst nightmare, the neon sign from the bar enticing her with its flicker like a moth to a flame.

   She'd like nothing more than to head in there. Lose herself in the darkness, inside a bottomless bottle until she drowns. And the only thing stopping her -- apart from Willow -- is that one small spark of belief.

   That she deserves to be free.

   "Hey, Becky Thatcher!"

   There's an odd crack to the strangely familiar voice. Faith peers across the road. A battered pickup sits in the parking lot of the tavern, a lone figure behind the wheel.

   She forces a smile, walking toward the truck. "No more whitewashing fences?"

   "Takin' the day off." Jeremy sounds vaguely distracted, his face turned slightly away from her. "You wanna join me? I got a six-pack..."

   Faith frowns, slowing her pace. The hair on her arms bristles as she comes within arm's reach of the vehicle. She can make out a fresh cut on his face, along with a sizable shiner.

   He looks set to explode.

   The sound of boots on gravel coincides with the twitch of Jeremy's eyes over her shoulder. Faith ducks and rolls, hearing a hum and a zap from behind.

   "Stand still, darlin' --"

   She's about to show this guy just whose darling she is when she hears the click, feels the sting of twin barbs in the small of her back. The current hits before she can brace herself, sends her twitching to the ground in a fit of helpless convulsions.

   "_Son of a bitch_ \--"

   Faith can hear the truck door open, then a grunt and the impact of bodies. The electricity stops, bringing a shudder of relief.

   She's too busy trying to regain full sensation in her limbs to pay much heed to the struggle. Still, Jeremy's scrawny form is visible atop their attacker; clinging to the other man's back, one fist clawing his face. An elbow to the gut doesn't dislodge the boy's hold, but weakens it enough that the bigger man can throw him off.

   "Stay down!" The redneck is breathing heavy as he pulls out a pair of stainless steel cuffs. He bends over Faith, grabbing her by one wrist.

   "And you, darlin'..."

   Her eyes open.

   She pulls it at the last second, but the impact of both boots square in his chest sends him into the concrete wall. He falls to the ground as she struggles to her feet.

   Jeremy yells again. And though Faith would like to tell him it's hardly necessary, right now there's only one thing to do.

   "_Run --_"

 

**

 

   "Well, that's a healthy breakfast."

   Ruby responds with a sullen glare at her daughter, who stands in the doorway, arms crossed. The older woman sits at the kitchen table, the level in the nearby bottle just below the halfway mark.

   "You ain't my mother." Ruby tosses her shot back, maintaining the glare. The belligerence is a perfect match for her expression.

   Lee Anne's voice softens. "Maybe you could use one."

   "God bless it, you ungrateful child!" The words are harsh, but without reproach. "I'm a Slayer! That means I can do what I want, and I can drink a whole _platoon_ under the table, you just _watch_ \--"

   Lee Anne just watches. Ruby falls silent, turning her glass in circles on the table.

   "Where's that other girl? Faith?"

   "Never you mind." Ruby's mumble lacks any real admonishment. "You just forget all that, okay? Just...forget it ever happened."

   "That what you want?" Lee Anne sits in the opposite chair, regarding her mother. "Forget it ever happened?"

   Ruby slams down her empty glass. Lee Anne flinches, but doesn't move.

   "Dangit, I am tryin' to protect you!" The tough act is breaking down; Lee Anne's seen it before, and it never quits being the most frightening thing in her universe. Even before these ridiculous fairy tales came true, her mother has always been the strongest person she knows, and the powerless look of defeat on the older woman's face brings fear to her own heart in abundance.

   "Son of a bitch got me backed into a corner," Ruby continues, flushed with shame and rage. "I don't turn her in, we're screwed! And what the hell use is it I can punch through a wall if I can't take out some asshole what deserves it good an' proper --"

   "Momma, what -- slow down --"

   "-- stupid Slayer m'tabolism, twice as hard to get a good drunk on --" Ruby throws her head back, breathing heavily as she clutches her glass; arms trembling with the obvious urge to chuck it straight into the wall.

   "Settle down..." Lee Anne rises from her chair, walking round back of her mother's. Her hands settle upon the older woman's shoulders, fingers digging into tense muscle.

   "Ungrateful child," Ruby groans, head lolling to one side. "Oh...right there..."

   A less discomfiting silence falls, apart from Ruby's vocalizations of encouragement. Lee Anne is working out one of the larger knots when her mother speaks again.

   "You wanna know my biggest regret?"

   "Besides marryin' that bastard?" Lee Anne's expecting the usual rebuke, but it fails to materialize.

   "Not havin' another kid. Maybe two."

   Her hands momentarily skip a beat, finding the rhythm once more. She can't say she's shocked, exactly. But --

   "How can you say that?" Lee Anne manages not to whine, falling short of petty complaint. Still, it's not her most gracious moment.

   "I'm stickin' by it." And Ruby indeed appears intractable. "Wouldn'ta saved that marriage --"

   "Glad to hear it," Lee Anne mutters.

   "But it woulda been a lot better. For me _and_ you."

   "You think so?" Lee Anne laughs, shaking her head as she continues the massage. "I think maybe it's time we put you in that home. For the mentally disabled?"

   "I was a year older'n you, when I had you." Ruby's quiet voice is without blame or resentment. "And he comes around with his chest all puffed up, threatenin' to dig up whatever skeletons in _my_ closet? You know I never hid nothin' from you --"

   "Coulda stood to hear less." Lee Anne grimaces. "Seen less, too."

   "Not because I'm proud of the crazy stunts I pulled." Ruby's hand finds hers, powerful fingers giving a careful squeeze. "Because I wanted you to learn from my mistakes."

   Lee Anne returns the pressure, acutely aware of the frightening new strength.

   "And Jeremy? Was he a mistake?"

   "Oh, dear Lord." The giggle chokes off as Ruby buries her face in her other hand. "A _sexy_ mistake."

   "Looked like a regular one." Lee Anne is glad her mother can't see her blush. "'Least that's one kind you don't need to worry 'bout me makin'."

   "What are you babblin' about?" Ruby's voice is tinged with affection. The older woman pauses, her entire body freezing.

   "I already said _oh dear Lord_, didn't I?"

   "That you did," Lee Anne acknowledges. Her mother's back is tensing up again.

   "So that time with Wanda Matheson --"

   Lee Anne takes a deep breath. "Wasn't exactly a isolated incident."

   "Dammit." Ruby is clearly mortified. Lee Anne can't really blame her.

   "Wasn't more'n a couple times, neither." She wrestles her tongue down, trying to tame her rebellious accent. "I still think about her --"

   "Well, you find someone better to think on."

   Lee Anne's outrage is outpaced by shock at the finality of this pronouncement. Ruby turns around in the chair, staring her down.

   "That one didn't show her face in this town again 'cause she'd screw anything that moved." Ruby's gaze softens. "You're gonna sleep with women, you damn well find one that's worth it. 'Cause they are _crazy_, you hear?"

   Lee Anne tries not to swallow at the telltale glint of moisture.

   "That mistake." She squeezes her mother's hand again. "Is he worth it?"

   "I think so." Ruby returns the squeeze, fear and determination warring in her gaze. "I hope."

   "Then you got my blessing." Lee Anne reaches out and pushes her mother's hair back, gazing into her eyes. "For what it's worth. And I don't want to hear you blamin' yourself for however I turned out --"

   "Right." Ruby's mouth twists in a delicate moue of distaste. "'Cause, single mom, abusive dad -- don't have _nothin'_ to do with that."

   "I mean it," Lee Anne insists. Ruby looks stubborn, then sighs.

   "Things are never quite that simple, are they?"

   "Reckon not."

   She watches as Ruby turns back to the bottle. The older woman hesitates before popping the cap back on.

   "You still of a mind to leave?"

   Lee Anne considers the question anew.

   "Don't know." And she doesn't, really, for the first time. "Maybe not yet. I could wait 'til I'm twenty one -- it ain't so bad..." She opens the fridge, grabbing a coke. "But we need better Internet."

   "Oh, poor pitiful you. They got Internet down the library, don't they?"

   "Momma, that thing is so slow --"

 

**

 

   She's far from out of breath, but her traitorous heart is pounding fit to beat the band. The sun is creeping over the horizon as Faith reaches the middle of downtown, stopping in the middle of the street before ducking behind a building, pressing up against the back wall.

   A faint rumble, off in the distance. Very familiar...

   She makes a break for the alley.

   The hunter roars by, mere inches away.

 

**

 

   She can do this. Let go; relax. Give Faith all the time she needs...

   A brief flash illuminates her meditative calm.

   _Honey?_ Willow's awareness of her own body returns, her eyebrows scrunching up. _You okay?_

   _Fine!_ The mental reply is a jumble of distraction. Willow frowns.

   _What's wrong?_

   _Nothing!_ A mix of anger and embarrassment. _Get outta my head --_

   Willow snaps back. Momentarily stunned, as she collects herself.

   Then she's on her feet. Running outside, down the steps; trying not to trip over her shoelaces.

   Someone skids to a halt before her. She takes in the erstwhile Tom Sawyer, wounded, gasping for breath.

   "Jeremy? What is it?"

   He gulps air, swallowing with tremendous effort.

   "That girl got someone _big_ an' ugly after her!"

 

**

 

   So she managed to surprise him. Shook off the taser like it was nothing. Girl's a got-damn elephant.

   And he's the elephant gun.

   The garage is only minutes away, even on foot. He bursts through the door, past the attendant who's falling out of his own chair at all the ruckus; heading into the back, fumbling with his voluminous keychain before cracking the lock on the bike.

   He leans all his weight on the kickstarter. The engine turns over like a two dollar hooker, the sound of a jet during takeoff echoing from the cement walls.

   The hunter flies from the garage with an unholy screech, pebbles flying every which way as he takes the turn hard around the building, up the middle of the main drag. His fingers itch inside the leather gloves, heart hammering beneath the Kevlar vest. The helmet is custom, a black wedge that slices the air like a shark's fin.

   The first rays of light are beginning to drive away the darkness as he catches movement among the shadows. He banks left, flying down the alley. The hidden camera is on and running, a single red LED in his sunglasses indicating record mode.

   The brunette fills his view before he knows what hit him. Almost literally; he avoids her by arm's length, leaning almost into the wall as he flies by, close enough to reach out and grab a handful. Too bad both of his are occupied.

   He swings about, skidding to a halt.

   "Come out come out, wherever you are..." The hunter makes sarcastic crooning and clucking noises through the grill of his helmet. All doors on this side of the buildings are closed, no sign of forced entry; no fire escapes or handy nearby manholes.

   "Don't make me angry," he chuckles. "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry..."

   "Too late." Her voice seems to echo all around. "Don't like ya now."

   "Girl, you are fast becoming one festering boil on my backside. And I have had more than my share."

   "If you're lookin' for someone to pop that zit? Count me out."

   "Doin' fine on my own." He ignores the teasing lilt as he scans the narrow path, back and forth between the double row of rooftops. "Other people always let you down..."

   He barely hears the impact of boots on gravel over the muted roar of the engine. The hunter opens up the throttle, tearing down the alley with little regard for his own safety, even less for the surrounding property.

   She's flying down the middle of the street when he emerges, a B-movie horror chick with the form of an Olympic sprinter. She looks over her shoulder with a grin, and now he's feeling just a tad ticked off. Like she's not taking him seriously.

   But two can play that game.

   He pops the clutch, snaps the front of the bike up. Holding steady is a bit of a strain, but it's not like he needs a paved road to pull off a basic wheelie maneuver. He can imagine the camera in his belt buckle rolling away; capturing every second as the engine passes twelve thousand, clutch slipping into place and the bike coming down with a jolt as he barrels toward her fleeing form.

   She tries to dodge at the last, but the hunter anticipates this, sideswiping her with a glancing blow. He wobbles, recovering just in time to enjoy the thrill of seeing her fly into the air before landing a dozen feet away, rolling like a log. She struggles to rise as he swerves around, then collapses in a heap.

   He kills the engine and slides off the bike, one hand by the gun at his hip. The other slides into his pocket, slipping on the brass knuckles.

   "You are one tough bitch," the hunter states with genuine admiration. "And I am definitely taking you serious." He pauses, loving the moment as he stands over her fallen body.

   "And now...I'm takin' you in."

   He slips out the cuffs, leaning down to flip her over.

   Too late, he sees the look in her eyes.

   Her hand whips out, grabs onto his leather jacket. Then he's flying downward; expecting a sonic crack to fill the air before the real boom hits.

   She pulls back with a grin, staring at him through the shaded visor. Ignoring the blood trickling down her own forehead.

   The hunter is still reeling from the blow, his world already rocked, when she pulls him down again. The smack of her skull on his faceplate would be enough to turn his stomach, but that concern is further away with each second next to the tangible nausea spreading through his system; the raw, animal terror at realizing just how badly the tables have turned.

   The gun in his hand weighs a ton.

   He's still struggling to lift it when the world explodes, daylight flooding into his brain. Dwayne is only dimly aware of his helmet falling away from his head, cracked in two. Morning sun cuts through the trees, dazzling and blinding, and he's so punchdrunk he can't even be scared as she stands up, grabbing his belt and hoisting him overhead in a power lift.

   "Other people always let you down." The woman's tone is casual, without a hint of sarcasm.

   "Oh, God..." The hunter barely recognizes his own voice, pitiful and weak. The ground yaws beneath, ready to receive him. "Don't hurt me..."

   She ignores him, shifting her grip.

   Loving the moment.

   "But I don't need other people."

   The world flips over. His stomach doesn't have time to heave before the hunter comes crashing to earth, in a picture-perfect bodyslam.

   "That..." Jeremy watches from the side of the road, wounds forgotten; slack-jawed, his eyes brimming with tears of awe. "Is the most beautiful thing I ever seen."

   Willow doesn't say anything as she stands beside him. But her smile is full of pride.

   "Oh God..." The hunter lets out a groan as the sensation begins to return to his spine. "I'll sue your sorry ass! Oh, Jesus...whiplash..."

   "Where is your God now?" Willow catcalls. Jeremy turns to her with a shocked expression, and the witch blushes. "I always wanted to say that..."

   "You're goin' down..." His threats would sound more credible if they weren't so unthreatening, interspersed with gasping moans for more air, less pain. "You hear me? You are goin' to federal, pound me in the ass prison! Five life sentences...aw, shit..."

   "Whaddya mean?" The brunette's triumphant smile vanishes as she glares down. "I don't get to be on your show?"

   The hunter blinks, all thought coming to a halt. Be nice if the pain would join it.

   "C'mon," she wheedles, avarice gleaming in her eyes. "If I'm goin' back inside, I want at _least_ a six figure movie deal. Plus book rights."

   Dwayne gapes, unable to string two thoughts together.

   "You're insane..."

   "Crazy like a fox." Her smile turns deadly. "I'm bettin' there's at least one camera that saw me whip you up and down this street like a redheaded stepchild."

   Willow coughs. Faith continues, heedless.

   "You wanna play exposé? Bring it on. We'll see how much mud sticks." The Slayer leans over, glaring down at her vanquished foe. "I got no problem playin' dirty."

   The ultimate double threat: Humiliation _and_ cancellation.

   The hunter clears his throat.

   "...maybe we can make a deal?"

 

**

 

   "I can't believe you let him get off that cheap."

   "You kidding? Sucker must have been the only one that didn't." Faith lowers the volume on the remote control, pulling her girlfriend closer.

   "And there was no reason to cut and run," Willow grumbles. "I could have glamoured us, or --" She doesn't say _amnesia'd him_. "Any number of things."

   "No reason to stay, either. We said our goodbyes." Faith squints at the TV. "Plus we got cable here."

   "And you're using it to watch this tripe?"

   "Never saw it before. Just wanna know what we're gonna be dealin' with -- figure, couple months down the road?"

   "Depends how much post-production." Willow reaches over, fingers slipping past the remote into Faith's hand. "Editing...polishing..."

   "Bullshitting," Faith declares.

   "I am shocked -- shocked and appalled -- at your cynicism." Willow snuggles into the Slayer's chest, tuning out the tinny sounds from the television. "Are you suggesting that all it takes to subvert justice is a few obliging witnesses? A patently outrageous scenario, concocted with just enough truth to be plausible -- slathered with a thick frosting of mythmaking, populist drivel?"

   "I'm suggesting maybe we didn't cover enough of our ass." But Faith doesn't sound overly worried. A faint smile plays at her lips as she stares at the tube, watching the Hunter declaim the virtues of the examined life. "Just wonderin' what kinda carnage we're lookin' at when this goes live."

   Willow peers at Faith. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

   "Not as much as wrestlin'." Faith's gaze never leaves the screen. "But you gotta give him points for -- what's that word?"

   "Hubris?"

   "Naw. The Jewish one..."

   "_Chutzpah._" Willow shakes her head. "I should never have told you that story."

   "You said all words have stories." Faith's arm is solid around her shoulders. "So what's the word for today?"

   _Boobs_, Willow thinks. "I hope she gets over her crush."

   "Huh?" Faith blinks, her attention finally wrested from the screen.

   "Lee Anne." Willow smiles, once more fighting her own pride. "She had _such_ a crush on me. You couldn't tell?"

   "Double huh?" The rhetorical question is clearly fueled by Faith's growing outrage. "That was totally _me_ she was wantin' --"

   "Because you knew she was gay from the start?"

   "Ain't got nothin' to do with it." Faith turns back to the television, lower lip creeping out in a subtle, petulant gesture. "And who was it figured out you and Tara were an item in under a minute, in _one freakin' sentence_?"

   Willow peers up at the other woman's stubborn jawline.

   "Besides," Faith mutters. "Ladies _love_ cool F."

   Willow fights to maintain resolve face, then dissolves into hopeless giggles. Faith resolutely ignores her as the witch wipes away tears of laughter.

   "And you're not horribly disgruntled because some hot young stud was immune to your considerable charms?"

   "Can't compete with a first crush."

   "Or the elusive milf factor?" Willow smiles.

   "You said it. I didn't." Faith looks down at her again. "_Considerable_, huh? How much is that?"

   "A lot."

   Faith cocks an eyebrow at the teasing tone. "Enough to get away with murder?"

   Willow shivers despite herself. The Slayer's words are without malice, almost playful.

   "Enough to get away with..." Willow trails off.

   "What?" Faith smiles and leans over, lips parted.

   Willow returns the kiss, nestling once more into place.

   "A lot."

 

**

 

   Truly, it has been the day from Satan's own sphincter. But it's over now.

   And he's lived to fight another.

   The hunter ignores the pain, staring at the inventory laid out atop his bed. Everything accounted for; the crucial footage tucked away in all its carefully edited glory. All he has to do is play his cards right. Do his best with the hand he's been dealt.

   Right now, it's time for a drink.

   He's finishing up the second when he decides against a third. The hunter stands, reaching for the bottle to stow it away.

   He sways, gently, in a nonexistent breeze.

 

   He stands over the sleeping man, observing with an air of detached curiosity. The hunter lies snoring on the floor, reflected in wireframe glasses.

   David glances around, ticking off every item in the room on an internal checklist. The mojo wire might have led him to Hollow Springs a step too late to lay hand on the real object of his investigation. But there was no need to intimidate anyone, or bluster with threats. Not when it was so much simpler to slip Mister Dwayne Marcus Quinton a mickey; confiscate every last scrap of video evidence before anyone else could lay eyes upon it. Let alone make copies.

   "Hang in there, brother." He kneels, bestowing a light fistbump on one beefy bicep. "It's tough to make it work."

   For once, the hunter has nothing to say.

 

**

 

   "No, no. Loosen up. Move _around_ it, not --"

   "Not with it. I know, I'm just --"

   "Getting your ass kicked." The dark-haired girl sticks out her tongue and twirls her staff.

   "Dana, that's not nice." Rona's warning is spoiled when she returns the younger Slayer's smile. "Now come on, you guys. Let's enjoy the privacy while it lasts."

   "You think they will tell us to stop?" This comes from Margaret, one of the newest Potentials; gawky and slender, fresh off the plane from Denmark. She and Dana have been paired up for this testbed project, approved by the younger Summers sister in her capacity as Apprentice Watcher in Training. Under the supervision of Sunnydale survivors Rona and Chao-Ahn, the four of them have been conducting daily training sessions in an unused wing of their London headquarters, apart from the rest of the group.

   "As long as nobody is hurt." Chao-Ahn's English remains heavily accented, but they can't remember the last time they had to translate, for her or anyone else. "They cannot make us."

   "Damn straight." Rona gives her compatriot an approving nod. "Now come on, Margie. Pick up the stick --"

   "No!"

   Everyone freezes at the look on Dana's face; the desperation in her sudden outburst, as she blindly clutches her staff. Rona swallows, remaining very still.

   "Dana? What did we talk about?" The younger Slayer stares about the room, wild-eyed. Rona leans over to a petrified Margaret. "Remember I told you not to freak? Last time we just showed her a mirror. Reminded her who she was..."

   "No..." Dana's moan becomes a sob, the staff falling from her fingers as she sinks to the floor. "I can't do this again! You have to help me --"

   "Margie?" Rona swallows and licks her lips. "Get Giles."

   The younger Slayer heads for the door. Her hand is on the knob when a chill runs through her bones at her sister's words.

   "I can't do this again, Giles..."

   Margaret turns and stares. Choa-Ahn and Rona are likewise open-mouthed.

   "Please, Giles..." Dana trembles, staring unseeing into space. "You have to help me..."

 

 

 

   _Just relax now  
   The time has come to watch our backs now..._

    - J.G. Thirlwell

\--

 

Notes:

I did not break my arm patting myself on the back for not using the Warren Zevon song. Which I love, but it didn't seem appropriate for an episode that skewers the 'reality police' genre, as well as fictional tropes like the Lorenzo Lamas vehicle whose title I directly stole ("Harlequin romance on a Harley", or so it always seemed to me).

[Alligator Alley](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alligator_Alley) is very real, although far from a desert since it runs through the Everglades. You can wank this as Willow vaguely remembering Kennedy's description, like the game of Telephone where a message becomes more distorted the more people it goes through.

Other references:

<http://appalachianhistory.blogspot.com/>

<http://rednecromancer.typepad.com/mouth_of_the_holler/>

<http://www.wvculture.org/history/journal_wvh/wvh30-2.html>

[http://www.associatedcontent.com/pop_print.shtml?content_type=article&amp;content_type_id=8611](http://www.associatedcontent.com/pop_print.shtml?content_type=article&content_type_id=8611)

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boomhauer>

**


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